Chapter 6
‘Argh!’
Sasha was filling the sugar bowls when she dropped the packet, spilling sugar cubes everywhere. She went to fetch the dustpan and brush, and swept up the cubes. She was just putting the brush away when she knocked into the drying rack and chipped one of her favourite cherry-blossom plates.
Why was she suddenly so clumsy? Surely it wasn’t anything to do with not being able to read Ben?
Sasha had always been a worrier. She told herself that psychic readings didn’t work every time. Por Por had warned her it was an art, not a science, and it wouldn’t always work a hundred per cent.
‘If you have fifty or sixty per cent accuracy, that is good enough to be a matchmaker,’ she’d told her. ‘Sometimes it depends on your client’s personality. Some people are more open and they are easier to read.’
Sasha had been lucky to have had a good run so far. And, she had to admit, she’d come to think of herself as the town’s oracle. She’d been proud of her growing intuition and enjoyed reading different personalities, sensing things about people that they might not be aware of themselves.
Every time a match worked out because of her advice, it was a boost to her ego.
Maybe she could be a worthy successor to her matchmaker ancestors.
She’d started to believe in herself again and was determined to make her business work.
After everything that had happened with Dominic and the blow to her career when the college had made those accusations, she’d been left feeling so low.
Her success at matchmaking had given her back her confidence.
But it would be wrong to expect it to work every time.
She would just have to play it by ear when it came to Ben.
She was still mulling this over when the door rang and Mr Davis came in.
He handed her a pretty ceramic pot, full of tangerine-coloured mini tulips.
‘Spring is in the air, despite this week’s snow.
I thought these would cheer you up – you’ve been looking rather worn out, dear Sasha. ’
‘Aw, thanks! You’re such a sweetheart, Mr Davis, these are really stunning.’
‘My pleasure, Sasha. Just a small token of my gratitude. This café has been my refuge these last few months. You are always so welcoming – the ideal host.’
Sasha felt her cheeks warm. She was touched by Mr Davis’s words, but she’d never known how to respond to a compliment.
‘Did you ask Vera what she thinks about the matcha reading? You could be buying flowers for a special someone soon,’ she teased him instead.
Her thoughts flew to Ben. He’d said he was single, but not sure if he was looking.
She remembered his comment about love not always working.
Could he have just come out of a relationship?
Or was he suffering from unrequited love?
Mr Davis smiled. ‘You are special, my dear. But I must admit, Vera tells me she never wanted me to be alone for ever. It could be time for me to dip my toe in the water.’
‘It’s pretty quiet this morning. I have time now if you like,’ Sasha offered. ‘I know you well enough to skip my usual preliminary interview, and we could go straight to a matcha reading.’
‘All right, my dear, if you insist.’ Mr Davis patted her arm and she led him to sit at one end of the counter, the corner where she held the readings. ‘I’m in the hot seat – prepare the brew!’
Sasha brought out her special jade bowl, a bamboo whisk, scoop and tiny sieve.
She felt her hand tremble with nerves. Not surprising, since she’d been reminded her psychic abilities weren’t fail-proof.
But she took a deep breath to keep calm.
Mr Davis was the sweetest old gentleman and she’d always managed to sense how he was feeling.
There was no reason for there to be a problem.
She poured hot water into the bowl, then scooped and sifted in the matcha powder. She picked up her bamboo whisk and started to blend the powder and water in the W-shaped pattern.
As she whisked, she closed her eyes and spoke to the spirit of her grandmother. I call on the energy of Por Por and my ancestors. Guide me to find a new romance for Mr Davis.
The matcha bubbled and frothed. A vision appeared in her mind. She saw Mr Davis walking towards the river. He crossed over the humpback bridge and along the pathway that ran alongside the water.
In the distance she heard a high-pitched yapping. It was coming from near the small island, by the weeping willow. A dog was in the water, stuck in some roots, and was howling in distress.
The vision faded. Sasha opened her eyes and saw Mr Davis peering at her, a worried expression in his eyes. ‘Is everything all right, Sasha? Were you – barking?’
Sasha’s cheeks burned and she explained: ‘I saw a dog in distress – it needs rescuing. Where were you thinking of walking just now?’
‘I was planning on visiting the churchyard again, popping in to see my Vera.’
‘How about a change in route? Walk across the bridge, along the river and follow the path to the island with the weeping willow. I couldn’t see anything particularly romantic in the vision, but there’s a small dog – a dachshund – that’s scared and needs your help.’
It must mean something.
‘Oh, yes, all right. Poor thing. I guess I’d better hurry.’ Mr Davis found his coat and Sasha helped him into it. ‘It all sounds rather peculiar, and you were definitely yapping, Sasha, my dear, but I trust you.’
‘Dead weird, I know. But – best to check it out. The dog sounded very upset.’
After Mr Davis left the café, Sasha tried to focus on hand washing and drying some of the more delicate tea sets. But too many thoughts were spilling round her mind and after she nearly broke another plate she gave up.
What the hell had she been thinking? Was she losing it?
A dog, a yappy little dachshund, was hardly the stuff of romance.
Now Mr Davis would have to rescue it – and he was bound to get wet in the process.
She should have called the fire brigade, not sent an elderly gentleman out like Sir Lancelot.
And where was the owner of the dog in her vision? Maybe they’d already gone to find help.
She was becoming more unsure by the minute. How could the yapping dog have anything to do with a romantic match for Mr Davis? Her confidence was totally shaken. She didn’t know what to believe any more.
She busied herself with tasks round the café, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d made a mistake. She paced the floor, straightening and re-straightening Rowena’s photo of the Merlion; it seemed to keep tilting to one side.
The door bell chimed.
‘Hey, Sasha – something tells me there’s a matcha latte with my name on it.’ It was Klara. Immediately she clocked Sasha was not herself. ‘Hey, lovely, is something wrong?’
Sasha squinted at the Merlion photo and tilted it straight for the tenth time. She raked her fingers in her hair. ‘Oh, god, I don’t know! I’ve just sent Mr Davis off to get soaked in the river and he’s probably drowned . . .’
‘What are you going on about? I just saw Mr Davis.’
‘Was he in the river? Rescuing a dog? Did he fall in?’
‘I don’t know about a dog, but there was a rather glamorous and attractive lady with him. She had a gorgeous velvet swing coat. I rather fancy something like it for myself. Why – what’s happened?’
Just then the door jangled open. Mr Davis’s voice rang out. ‘Ah – there she is! It was Sasha who saw Puddles stuck on the island. That’s why I rushed straight there to help.’ He was holding a rather soggy dachshund, wrapped in his woollen scarf.
Next to him was a woman in a deep plum-coloured, velvet coat, with a mane of dark curls, looking rather upset. She smiled at Sasha warmly, despite her worried expression. ‘Oh . . . I’ve been meaning to come into this café . . .’
‘I can confirm it is a rather wonderful establishment,’ said Mr Davis.
‘It’s my local spot for the best matcha.
May I introduce Sasha? She whisks up a very special matcha latte.
’ He winked at Sasha. ‘You were right about a dog needing rescue. Mrs Crane over here was panicking about what to do when I arrived.’
‘Oh, call me Gloria, please!’
‘Gloria, hi – I’ll get a towel and a blanket – and maybe a treat for . . .’
‘Puddles. My little grandson named him when he was a puppy and would, well, piddle on the floor. I can’t thank you enough!’ Gloria pressed Sasha’s arm, wiping her eyes.
Sasha grabbed a towel and helped bundle Puddles out of Mr Davis’s scarf – now very wet and muddy. The poor creature was shivering with cold, and Gloria, despite her brave smiles, was not much better. ‘How ever did you guess my poor darling needed help?’
‘I sensed Puddles’ distress in a vision. How about a warm drink – a green tea or a matcha latte? It must have been such a shock for you.’
‘Lovely, thank you, a matcha latte sounds perfect. Thank goodness dear Robert came along when he did. Puddles fell into the river – he thinks he can swim, but his coat weighed him down and he couldn’t get out – poor lamb .
. . but, goodness your poor scarf – it’s completely ruined! ’ Gloria exclaimed to Mr Davis.
‘It’ll dry, don’t worry.’ Mr Davis squeezed her fingers gently, and added two lumps of sugar to Gloria’s latte.
‘Let me pay to have it cleaned at least.’
‘You’ll do no such thing – my beloved Vera always pre-shrunk her wool; it’ll be fine to handwash,’ Mr Davis reassured her.
Klara exchanged a smile with Sasha as she picked out a slice of matcha and chocolate marble cake to go.
‘See you all later!’ She headed back to The Bookery, mouthing – ‘It’s a match!’ She winked towards the older couple.
Sasha’s relief was huge. She might not be able to sense anything about Ben, but her intuition had worked well for Mr Davis. There was nothing wrong. Her psychic abilities were functioning perfectly.
Mr Davis and Gloria stayed until she recovered from the shock. They snuggled Puddles in an old picnic blanket Sasha found, exchanging confidences all the while. They seemed to have a lot in common.
Sasha gave Puddles some doggie treats in a bowl she kept for customers’ pets, and retreated to the counter to give Mr Davis and Gloria some privacy.
There was a sparkle in Mr Davis’s eyes and Gloria’s cheek was tinged with a blush.
They ordered another round of lattes and a matcha blondie, which Sasha brought two forks for, as they carried on chatting.
Could my vision of the yapping dog be resulting in a love match?
At one point, Gloria’s voice choked as she shed a few tears.
Sasha picked up the box of tissues ready to hand it to her, but before she padded over, Mr Davis handed his companion his large cotton handkerchief.
Both Mr Davis and Gloria had lost their long-time partners, but it seemed to Sasha that both could be ready to emerge from their grief.
There was nothing wrong with her matchmaking skills at all. Instead, Ben was probably unreadable. Sasha could only wonder why.