a good working relationship with the man, who, being in his late fifties, was the kind of authority figure it was useful to have on your team.
Charlie could have made a coffee from the jar of instant he’d found stashed away in the kitchen area of the office, but when he’d opened the lid, a moth had flown out, so he decided to get some fresh air before his morning meeting with Tom and head over to one of the cafes on the High Street he’d spotted when he’d dropped in on ComIncense. Locking the door, he pocketed the key and headed up the road.
As he wandered back along the row of the weird, wonderful and decidedly wacky shops that lined Willowbury High Street, the variety made him smile, as it did every time he walked this way. There was a bookshop called Vale Volumes most of whose titles in the window seemed to focus on either spiritual healing or the search for King Arthur; a musical instrument shop, which, from the looks of it, didn’t stock anything that was instantly recognisable to Charlie as anything that might be found in an orchestra; a shop front full of crystals of various sizes all glinting in the sunshine; and an artisan handmade candle shop with wax creations of all kinds. Added to that, was a brightly painted shop front emblazoned with ‘Fae Floristry’ and bedecked with all kinds of blooms, local and more exotic.
Charlie’s back stiffened as he found his footsteps drawing closer to ComIncense Health and Well-being, where he’d encountered Holly Renton yesterday. A prickle of embarrassment and irritation prodded at the back of his neck as he recalled her casual dismissal of him – both before she’d been aware of his presence in the shop and, even if she had blushed a bit, after. He wasn’t sure what was worse, really: indifference to politics or firm opinions, forcefully held. He was sure he’d come across plenty of both in this new job.
Drawing level with the door of ComIncense, he found himself pausing to look at the window display. A mixture of tall altar candles, sparkling crystals of all colours and hues that caught the light and the odd sprig of dried herbs, it looked exotic and inviting, and Charlie had to admit that Holly had an eye for the enticing. If he had the slightest clue what any of the items in her shop window actually did, he was sure he’d be sold on them. As it was, he couldn’t imagine having use for any of them in his life, even if the comedy voodoo doll was funny.
Suddenly aware he might be seen to be loitering, and definitely not wanting to be caught, Charlie quickened his pace again, but not before he caught sight of Holly again, with her back to the window, hair in the same unruly updo that was escaping in tendrils down her shoulder blades almost to her waist, atop a ladder and pulling down one of the large apothecary’s jars that resided behind the counter in a tall dresser. She had the kind of hair he longed to touch, and he was astonished to feel that prickle of irritation he’d felt turning to something else altogether as he allowed himself another moment to watch her. There was something so familiar about the curve of her shoulders, the gentle sweep of that long back into her waist… why did he feel as though he’d encountered her before?
Shaking his head, he tore his eyes back to the High Street, in search of the coffee shop he knew was up the top of the town somewhere.
Picking up his pace, he was tickled to find, on entering Willowbury’s number-one coffee establishment (as dictated by the sign in the window, at least), that even the hot beverages in this place had a twist of the alternative about them. Among the Americanos, lattes and flat whites that could be found anywhere was a smattering of exotic twists from all around the world, from Turkish to Egyptian to Vietnamese blends and varieties. Charlie wondered wryly whether air miles were factored into the costs.
‘Morning, sir!’ A cheery voice greeted him as he walked up to the counter. The owner of the voice, a man who Charlie judged to be in his late thirties, and from his name badge was called Jack, gestured to the menu behind him. ‘What can I get you?’
Charlie glanced up at the menu boards and then back at the barista. ‘Just a flat white, thanks.’
‘We’ve got a promotion on the fair-trade South-west Guatemalan beans this week if you’d like to give them a go,’ Jack responded. ‘A hint of chocolate and almond. Goes down beautifully with one of our amaretto croissants, if you’d like one.’
‘Sounds great, thank you,’ Charlie replied.
Five minutes later he was chowing down on a flaky, amaretto-soaked croissant and trying to identify the alleged flavour notes in the coffee. He’d taken a seat by the window, so he could gaze out at the High Street, which was showing more signs of life now than when he’d headed to his office earlier that morning.
Even on a workaday Tuesday, he was surprised to see the more unusual inhabitants of Willowbury out in force. He was jolted to see a woman in nun’s robes standing by a cool box of what appeared to be wrapped sandwiches, which had a sign propped against it reading ‘Free lunch for the homeless’. There were one or two people taking advantage of this gentle charity and being handed a sandwich and a bottle of water with a calm and gentle smile by the nun. He had no idea that Willowbury had an issue with the homeless, although, he figured, perhaps with its proximity to both the Strawberry Line cycle track and the more major towns of Wells and Taunton, both tourist traps, it became more of a magnet during the summer months. He made a note on his phone to add that to his list of enquiries for Tom Fielding when they met later on. Some members of his party were positively medieval when it came to their attitudes to the homeless; Charlie wasn’t one of them. He believed in supporting people until they no longer needed to be supported, and if homelessness was an issue here, he needed to know about it.
‘How are you settling in?’ The barista’s voice broke into Charlie’s thoughts, bringing him back into the moment. Jack was wiping a recently vacated table near to where Charlie was sitting in the window, and Charlie turned his head slightly to reply.
‘Well, thank you. I’m sorry I haven’t popped in more officially yet, but I’ve been up to my ears in paperwork.’
‘I can imagine,’ Jack grinned. ‘Your predecessor didn’t strike me as the most organised of folks. Spent more time in the bars in Westminster than in the chamber, by all accounts!’
‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ Charlie said wryly. ‘Although his filing did leave a lot to be desired.’
‘Happen to come across any paperwork concerning that proposed new motorway junction?’ Jack asked, ultra-casually, as he continued to clear up the table. ‘Rumour has it that Hugo Fitzgerald took rather a large cut of the profits from the farmer who sold the land it’s being built on in return for pushing it through under the new, more relaxed planning laws.’ Jack shook his head. ‘Although it’s on hold now, of course.’
Ignoring Jack’s obvious fishing for grubby specifics, Charlie raised an eyebrow. ‘On hold?’
‘Yup.’ Jack’s eyes twinkled. ‘Apparently, when the archaeological dig was scheduled, it turned up artefacts of specific historical interest to the town. Until the site can be fully excavated, there won’t be a new junction going through there.’
Charlie raised his eyes skywards. He was rapidly finding out that Willowbury was full of oddities – some good and some rather less so. ‘That seems quite a coincidence,’ he said.
‘Well, you know how it is,’ Jack said, flinging his damp towel over his shoulder. ‘It’s amazing what turns up when you least expect it. I mean, who knew there was an old Roman encampment right where the proposed junction was going to go? Not to mention possible proof that King Arthur really might have existed.’ His eyes twinkled again.
‘King Arthur as well?’ Charlie smiled into his coffee. ‘This place is full of surprises.’ Finishing up his croissant and his coffee, he glanced at his watch and realised
