Chapter 12
Fiona had just slid another tray of scones into the oven when the doorbell rang. Wiping her hands on a towel, she hurried to answer it.
Bill saluted her. ‘Reporting for duty, ma’am!’ he joked, as Patch darted inside.
‘Why don’t you come in, Patch?’ she called to the dog, rolling her eyes and chuckling.
Bill stepped across the threshold, hesitated, then pecked her on the cheek.
‘How have you been?’ she asked. She hadn’t seen him or spoken to him since Tuesday and their trip to Brecon, and she wondered what he had been doing with himself.
‘Grand. And you?’
‘Busy. Reuben dropped his coffee machine off yesterday, so I spent an hour working out how to use it and making loads of cups of coffee. I was buzzing by the end of it. And then I went shopping for all the ingredients.’
Bill slapped a hand to his forehead. ‘I hope you didn’t carry it up from town. I’m sorry, I should have offered to come with you. I didn’t think of it.’
‘No need to worry, I got a taxi back.’
He continued to look mortified, so she thought the best thing to do was to set him to work. Being useful would make him feel better, so she handed him a pinny to pop over his head and tie around his waist.
After washing their hands and popping on some catering gloves, the two of them stood side-by-side at the worktop and set about buttering bread. Molly had informed Fiona that all the tickets had now been sold, so she knew she had to cater for around one hundred and forty people altogether. Calculating how much food she would need to prepare was second nature, and she could guess almost to the slice just how many loaves of bread she would need, and how many cakes and pastries she would have to bake.
Making the fillings for the dainty sandwiches, such as smoked salmon, coronation chicken, and cream cheese and cucumber for the vegetarians, was the first thing she did. Then she made caramelised onion & thyme sausage rolls, mini quiches, and pea and mint fritters, and she did all that before eight o’clock this morning.
She had just started on the sweet offerings when Bill turned up to make the sandwiches.
As he buttered slice after slice of bread, Fiona saw him glancing around her kitchen. Every available surface was covered with cooling savoury bites.
‘Did you make this lot, or buy it?’ he asked, his eyes like saucers.
Pretending to take offence, she said, ‘How dare you! I made them, of course. There’ll be no shop-bought muck at my tea dance.’
She saw him wince, then he realised she was teasing him and he chuckled, laughing aloud when she showed him a printed card that she had persuaded Reuben to make. It said, A selection of the home-made sandwiches, cakes and savouries which will be available from the cafe in Sweet Meadow Park. Opening soon .
‘You can’t beat some free advertising,’ she said.
She’d thought of it when Reuben had phoned to tell her he was bringing the coffee machine over, and she’d asked him if he wouldn’t mind creating a card for her to display on the buffet table. He had made two, bless him, one for each end, and had brought a couple of wooden stands to prop them up on. He really was a sweetie.
Bill was also proving to be a godsend as he made sandwich after sandwich, cutting them neatly into perfect triangles and placing them carefully into Tupperware boxes. She would arrange them nicely on serving platters at the venue.
In between supervising the sandwich making, Fiona baked batches of cakes, and soon there was a conveyor belt of them in and out of the oven. When she took the last batch out, she breathed a sigh of relief, wiping the back of a floury hand across her brow as Bill asked, ‘Are we done?’
‘Just about.’ She checked the time. The tea dance was due to start at three o’clock. It was now twelve-thirty. There was plenty of time for the cakes to cool (she needed to add frosting or glaze to a couple of them, and a filling to others), and to transfer all the food to the church hall, as well as to have a bit of lunch. She also wanted to change into something more appropriate than jeans and a top, although she would be wearing a fresh apron over her dress.
‘What’s next?’ Bill asked.
She was about to tell him that a break for a cuppa and some food was in order, when she became aware that he was peering at her intently.
He stepped towards her, his eyes on her face, and although they had worked together side-by-side in the relatively small confines of her galley kitchen for the past couple of hours, she became abruptly aware of his presence. He seemed to fill the space, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. It was as though the air had been sucked out of the room.
He was now so close that she could smell the soap he used, and she swallowed hard. Oh, God, was he going to kiss her?
He raised a hand to her face, and she steeled herself for his touch. She wasn’t ready for this. She—
‘Got it!’ he announced.
He showed her his finger: it had a blob of buttercream on the end.
Fiona stared at it.
‘You might want to give your face a wipe,’ he added, as he swilled his hands under the tap.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Fiona willed her pulse to slow down. It was going like the clappers and was making her feel rather lightheaded.
Goodness, what had she been thinking? Bill would no more dream of kissing her, than she would dream of kissing him . The fact that she had thought (even briefly) that he might, unsettled her, and it took her a few moments to gather her wits.
She hurried off to the loo to wash her face, her heart continuing to beat faster than usual. And the reason for that was even more concerning – because she was horrified to discover that she was disappointed that he hadn’t! Not having thought about another man in that way since Bradley died, Fiona couldn’t understand how she could feel like this.
Flustered, she walked back into the kitchen and hoped that Bill wouldn’t notice her discomfort.
Without meeting his eye, she said, ‘Shall I make us an omelette? We had better have lunch before the dance.’
‘How about a sandwich?’ he asked deadpan, and it took her a second to realise he was joking. Whether he meant it to or not, it dispelled the awkwardness she felt, and lunch ended up being quite a calm affair after the frantic activity of earlier.
And now, with the kitchen being more or less clean and tidy, it was time to show Bill how to operate the coffee machine, before they loaded everything into his car.
‘Will the machine in the cafe be similar to this?’ he asked, as Fiona watched him make a second latte, this time on his own without her showing him what to do.
‘I’m hoping to be able to use the one already there. It’s a bit of a museum piece, but once the rewiring is done, I’ll get someone out to service it and with any luck they’ll be able to get it going. It’s such a lovely old thing and part of the history of the place, so I’d hate to have to replace it.’
‘I wondered why the electrician hadn’t removed it. She was there this morning, when I took Patch for a walk.’
‘How long before she’s done?’
‘Another couple of days, I think. I stopped to have a quick chat, and she said she was squeezing in an hour before she had to go see someone about connecting up a cooker.’
‘It’s so good of her to do the work for cost,’ Fiona said. ‘I can’t believe how generous people have been. Everyone seems to be looking forward to having a cafe in the park again. I just hope I don’t let them down.’
‘Never!’ Bill glared at her. ‘If anyone can make a go of the cafe, it’s you. There’s no better person to run it.’ He sounded so adamant, that Fiona had to smile, despite her nerves.
Maybe she would feel more confident when the tea dance was done and dusted.
***
Fiona paused to watch a lively foxtrot as she ferried a plate of savouries from the compact kitchen out the back and into the hall.
Mrs Sykes from Rock Street was teaching Jack to dance. Or should Fiona say trying to , because Jack seemed to have two left feet and he appeared to have no control over either. The pair of them were laughing fit to burst, so if they were having a good time, it honestly didn’t matter. Molly was filming it on her phone but was hardly able to hold the mobile steady because she was giggling so much.
Molly’s mum and dad had also come along, as had Molly’s gran, Evelyn. Evelyn Brown used to call into Clover Cafe every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning after she’d done her shopping, but Fiona hadn’t seen her for a long time and she was pleased to see how well the old lady looked. She was a bit too doddery to dance, which wasn’t surprising since she was nearly ninety, but she was tapping her foot in time to the music and swaying from side to side as though she was up there in the thick of it.
She also noticed Bill’s neighbours, Ray and Mary Withers, twirling around the dance floor in perfect synchronisation. They had evidently danced a few jigs together!
Bill appeared at Fiona’s elbow. ‘Everyone seems to be having a whale of a time, even Patch.’ The dog was lying under a chair, well away from the buffet table in case anyone complained. So far, no one had, and the terrier had enjoyed plenty of pats and fussing.
The hall was filled with music and chatter, and as far as she could tell most people had got up for a dance or two. Fiona thought she might have a spin around the room herself later, once the food was eaten and if she could find someone who wanted to dance with her.
She placed the serving platter on the table with the others and stood back to admire the buffet. It looked pretty good, she thought, checking her watch. She caught Molly’s eye and nodded to signify that the buffet was set up if Molly wanted to call a break for refreshments.
The dance came to an end and as the music faded Molly made the announcement. With Bill on tea-making duty, Fiona on the coffee machine, and Molly and Jack on the cold drinks, the next ten minutes were busy, but when the rush subsided and Fiona was able to take stock, she was gratified to see that great inroads had been made into the buffet. And when she glanced at the people sitting at the tables dotted around the room, they all appeared to be enjoying the food.
All except one. Pamela Edwards had a look of disgust on her face as she glared at the contents of her plate, and as Fiona watched, the woman prised open a sandwich and poked at the filling with a bony finger.
Bill was also watching her. ‘What’s the saying – never trust a thin chef?’
Fiona glanced at him. ‘I hope you trust me .’
‘Of course I do!’
‘So, are you saying I’m plump?’ She was, and she didn’t care, but the opportunity to tease him was too good to pass up.
‘I would never—!’ he began, then stopped when he saw her smirk and any further discussion was halted by Ralph Curtis, who wanted to know whether he could have seconds.
Fiona said, ‘I don’t see why not, and I’d hate for any of it to go to waste.’
‘Stunning spread, Fiona,’ he said, helping himself to another sandwich. ‘Me and the missus were saying how lush it looked, and it tastes even better than it looks. I’d forgotten how moreish your scones are.’
‘Those sausage rolls are to die for,’ someone else said, eyeing them hopefully. ‘Can I have another?’
‘Help yourself.’ Fiona picked up the platter and held it out.
The chap said, ‘Will you be making full-sized versions?’
‘Absolutely. Everything you see here will be available in the cafe.’
A woman approached carrying a cup and saucer. ‘Any chance of a refill?’
Bill took it from her. ‘Tea, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s right, love. Lady Gray.’ As he found the right tea bag, the woman said, ‘I’m glad the cafe in the park is reopening. No one can make a pasty like you can. I used to call in every Friday, if you remember.’
Fiona did, but she couldn’t put a name to the face. ‘Lovely to see you again,’ she replied diplomatically.
‘What times will it be open, do you know?’ This was from the sausage roll man. ‘And will you be open in the winter as well, or will it just be a summer thing?’
Fiona felt herself getting panicky again.
Luckily for her, Bill noticed and stepped in. ‘Let’s get the repairs done and the place up and running, then we can look at opening times.’
‘We?’ Pamela Edwards snapped.
Fiona’s heart sank. ‘Hello, Pamela. I hadn’t expected to see you here. I didn’t think this was your kind of thing.’
‘It isn’t.’ Pamela glared at her. ‘But with half my customers buying a ticket, I thought I’d better see what all the fuss was about. It’s something of nothing, if you ask me.’
It was hard not to snap that no one had asked her, but Fiona bit down on the comment.
Pamela continued, ‘I’m surprised the council is letting you go ahead with opening the cafe again.’ She glowered at the card Reuben had made. ‘There was a reason it shut down in the first place.’
‘It’s not my doing,’ Fiona said. ‘It’s Molly’s.’
‘I might have known. She’s got the council’s ear, and a lot more besides.’ Another glare, this time directed at Jack.
Fiona bristled. ‘It’s all above board.’
‘I bet.’ Sarcasm dripped from Pamela’s lips. ‘It isn’t what you know, it’s who you know. Oh well, I dare say it’ll only be open on those days when the weather is nice, and even then it won’t get much trade. That park is hardly Kew Gardens. If you ask me, it’s a bloody eyesore.’
Once again Fiona had to bite her tongue, but Pamela hadn’t finished.
‘I’m surprised you want to get involved in it, at your age.’ She began to walk away, then stopped. ‘Good luck. I reckon you’re going to need it.’ And with that, she stalked off. She didn’t return to her table. Instead, she marched to the door, yanked it open and let it slam shut behind her.
Bill came to stand beside Fiona. Putting his arm around her shoulder, he gave her a swift one-armed hug before releasing her. ‘Sour grapes, Fi?’
‘Possibly, but there’s no reason for it. The cafe in the park is no threat to her. Best Bites is in the centre of town.’
‘I’m sure she’ll come around.’
Fiona hoped so. The last thing she wanted was bad blood between the two establishments.
She was still fretting about it when the music grew louder, signalling the end of the break. It was time to clear up, and Fiona had just started stacking the empty plates, when Bill took them from her and put them on the table.
‘I think we deserve to have a dance after all our hard work,’ he told her, reaching for her hand. ‘Come on, they’re doing a waltz.’
‘Can I take my apron off first?’ she asked, laughing.
‘Keep it on: it looks quite fetching.’
Fiona undid the ties. ‘If you think I’m going to dance with a pinny on, you can think again.’ She lifted it over her head, dropped it on the table, then smoothed her dress over her ample hips.
‘Ready now?’ he asked, holding his hand out again.
She took it. ‘I haven’t danced for years,’ she warned him. ‘I hope you’ve got steel toecaps on.’
‘I’m more likely to tread on your toes,’ he replied, putting a hand on her waist as she placed her left hand on his shoulder.
With their right hands intertwined, they were off, spinning and turning, Bill taking the lead and steering her through the other dancers. Soon Fiona found herself lost in the music and the joy of being twirled around until she was breathless and giddy. But it was only when the tempo changed to a slower dance and she realised that she was still giddy, that she began to speculate that it mightn’t be the dance responsible for her happy state of mind – it might be Bill himself.
***
Bill didn’t like to admit it, but when Fiona went to powder her nose he was pleased because it gave him a chance to catch his breath. He wasn’t getting any younger and all this dancing was taking its toll. He also wanted to make sure Patch was OK. He had left the dog sitting under a chair, and had been keeping an eye on him, but he thought the poor lad could probably do with a chance to stretch his legs and have a sniff.
‘I’ll take him out for you,’ Jack offered, as Bill headed for the door with Patch in tow. ‘You go enjoy yourself.’
‘What about you?’
Jack chuckled. ‘You may have noticed that I can’t dance for toffee. I think I’ve trod on everyone’s feet, and I’m now banned from the dance floor. I’ll take Patch out for a few minutes and keep an eye on him while you take Fiona for another spin. She looked like she was enjoying herself. So did you.’
Bill thanked him and gave him Patch’s lead, thinking that Jack was right – he was enjoying himself, far more than he thought he would. Fiona, despite her protestations, was a good dancer, light on her feet and nimble. He was a bit of a plodder compared to her, but it had felt natural to hold her in his arms, as though they had been dancing together for years.
Without being aware he was doing so, he scanned the room looking for her, then flinched when his gaze landed on Glenys. She was skirting the dancers, heading towards him with a smile on her lips and determination in her eyes.
‘Are you in need of a dancing partner?’ she asked, coming to stand next to him.
‘I was taking a breather, actually,’ he said.
‘Me, too. Good turnout, isn’t it?’
‘It certainly is.’
‘You should be very proud of yourself.’
‘Oh, I didn’t do much. It was mostly Fiona.’
‘Don’t put yourself down. There’s no way Fiona could have managed all this on her own.’
‘Molly and Jack played a big part too, and so did Reuben, and the vicar and—
‘I bet it’s nice to be back in Sweet Meadow after all your travelling,’ Glenys interrupted, ‘You can settle down properly now.’
Bill didn’t know what to say to that. ‘I suppose.’ He had always called Sweet Meadow home, even though he hadn’t lived in the town for most of his life.
‘It’s a pity your mum isn’t here. She would have loved to have had you back for good. I often called in to see her, you know.’
Bill had known. His mum used to tell him. ‘She appreciated your visits. Thank you.’
He nodded once, as though to bring an end to the conversation, but there was no stopping Glenys as she said, ‘She used to tell everyone how proud she was of you.’
Bill felt a lump rise in his throat. She used to tell him the same thing. His one regret was that he hadn’t visited her as often as she would have liked. He came home whenever he could, but not nearly enough, and even then it tended to be a flying visit. The problem was, he had loved his job so much that he hadn’t wanted to be onshore for long. That had been part of the problem with him and Tracey, part of the reason she had called the wedding off. His mother had been so upset…
As though she had read his mind, Glenys said, ‘Your mum once told me that it was her dearest wish to see you married.’ She shook her head sadly, then brightened. ‘It’s not too late though, eh?’ she added, with a wink.
To say that he was taken aback by that, was an understatement. Bill was dumbfounded. Not only was Glenys discussing things he didn’t want to discuss, but she was making assumptions she had no right to make. He might be spending a lot of time in Fiona’s company recently, and he might have developed a soft spot for her, but that didn’t mean he was about to propose.
Fiona chose that moment to reappear, and his eyes automatically gravitated towards her. She was waylaid by Charlie from bowls, who (surprisingly) was sitting at the same table as Morris, who didn’t seem to object to Patch being at the dance this afternoon, or if he did, he hadn’t mentioned it.
Glenys followed his gaze.
‘It’s such a shame,’ she said. ‘Her husband dying so young. She’s never looked at another man in all that time. Devastated, she was. I don’t think she’ll ever get over it.’ Glenys patted his arm. ‘It’s nice she’s got a friend like you. I hope she appreciates you and doesn’t take you for granted.’
The possibility had never occurred to him. Fiona simply wasn’t like that.
Scooting closer (too close for comfort) Glenys said, ‘You’ll have to pop around to mine – I won a bottle of champagne in the jumble sale raffle, remember, and I don’t like drinking on my own.’
What? No! That was the last thing he wanted.
He was trying to formulate a reply when he felt a nudge on his leg. Jack had returned with Patch, and Bill was mightily relieved at the interruption as he asked, ‘Did he do the necessary?’
‘On every lamp post.’
‘Thanks for that.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Jack handed him Patch’s lead. ‘If you need me to take him out again just shout.’
Glenys put a hand on Bill’s arm. He wished she would stop doing that. Using the excuse of reaching down to pat his dog, he shook it off.
She said, ‘Don’t forget about the champers. We’ll have a chat when you’re less busy.’
No, we won’t, he thought. Glenys might be a kind-hearted and thoughtful woman, but she wasn’t his cup of tea at all.
But he had learnt one thing from the conversation – that Fiona was as determinedly single as he.
He should have been glad, because it meant that they could continue to be friends without risk of awkwardness. So why wasn’t he?