pleasure. You’ve been a good friend to me, too, Annie. There were times when I couldn’t have got through without you.’
That unexpected frankness was nearly her undoing. Annie swallowed and gave a little shrug. ‘What are friends for? I’m glad you’ve found someone. You deserve to be happy.’
Ruth nodded and turned her attention to her coffee, looking at it rather than at Annie, stirring it with meticulous care. ‘I just wish you could be as happy,’ she said quietly after a moment. ‘I know you and Roger were very fond of each other, but you weren’t exactly soul mates, were you? You’ve never really told me about Stephen’s father, but I get the feeling you’re still a little in love with him. Is there any chance—?’
Annie felt her smile slip. ‘No. He’s dead—years ago, before I started running this place. The way I felt—well, it was a one-off, crazy thing. I don’t know if it was the real thing, but it certainly felt like it at the time. He was French, and such a charmer—I just fell for that broken English and gorgeous, sexy accent hook, line and sinker. I adored him, but you can’t base a marriage on it. At least we didn’t have time to get bored with each other. I don’t know. It might have worked given time, who knows, but I doubt it. We just didn’t get the chance to find out.’
‘But maybe now—if the right man came along—?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I don’t need any more heart-ache, and nor does Stephen. He’s lost two fathers, although he only ever knew Roger. I think that’s enough for anyone.’
Ruth was quiet for a moment, then she looked up and searched Annie’s face. ‘Do you think Stephen’s suffered for not knowing his real father?’
Annie shook her head slowly. ‘No—not really. I know we had an unconventional marriage, but Roger was a good father to all the children. Stephen adored him, and I would have been horribly lost without him—even if I could never compete with his first wife.’
‘Ah, yes. The amazing Liz. Ghosts are always the hardest. She was a bit of a legend, by all accounts. They still talk about her, you know.’
Annie nodded. ‘She was certainly loved in the village. Her death was an awful shock to everyone. I couldn’t believe it. She’d been my college lecturer, you know—taught me everything I knew about catering, but she was more than that, even then. She was a friend, a real friend, and I was lost when she died, but at least we’d set this place up by then, so she saw her dream become reality. Still. Time moves on, and they’re together again now. And you’ve got your Tim. I really, really hope you’re happy together.’
‘We will be. Do keep in touch. Can I come and have coffee still?’
Annie laughed. ‘Of course. I run a coffee shop—what else would you do?’
‘But you’re busy.’
‘Never too busy for a friend. Please come. Don’t be a stranger. I couldn’t bear to lose you, too.’
‘You won’t lose me—promise.’
Ruth hugged her again, and then went out, running up the stairs to the flat above to start her packing, and Annie scrubbed the kitchen until it sparkled, determined not to let the stupid tears fall. It wasn’t as if Ruth was a bosom buddy, but as busy as she was, Ruth was probably one of her closest friends. Bringing up the children and working the hours she did didn’t leave a lot of time for socialising.
She straightened up, threw the tea towel she’d used for polishing the worktops into a bag to take home, and looked round, checking to make sure she was ready for the morning.
What would her landlord make of it, she wondered? And how would he want to change it? Refurb covered a multitude of sins. A shiver of apprehension went down her spine. The Ancient House was Grade II listed, so there were restrictions on what he could do to it—she hoped. She didn’t want it to change. She’d had enough change recently. But what if he wanted to throw her out and turn it back into a house? That was always a possibility now she was the only tenant.
It was old, very old, a typical low Tudor house, stretching all across one side of the square, with a big heavy door in the centre that led to a small rectangular entrance hall. There was a door straight ahead that led to the flat above, another door leading to Miller’s, her little tearoom that ran front to back on the right of the door, and one opening into the left-hand end that was occupied by the little antique shop.
Ex-antique shop, she reminded herself, now that Mary had wound down her business and closed the door finally for the last time only a week ago, so what better time for him to move in and make changes?
More changes. Heavens, her life was full of them recently. Roger’s death in June last year had been the first. Even though they’d been waiting for it, it had still been a shock when it came. Still, they’d got through somehow, comforting each other, and it hadn’t been all bad.
Kate, Roger’s younger daughter, had got the grades she needed for uni, and there had been tears, of course, because her father hadn’t been there to see her success. And Annie, telling her how proud he would have been, had reduced them all to tears again.
In September the girls had gone away—Vicky, the eldest, back to Leicester for her second year and Kate to Nottingham to start her degree, and the house had seemed unnaturally silent and empty. Stephen was back at school, and without the tearoom Annie would have gone crazy.
She’d grown used to the silence, though, and the holidays since had seemed almost too noisy. Much as she loved them, she’d been glad this September when the girls had gone away again and taken their chaos and untidiness with them, but without them, and with Ruth moving on, it would be very quiet. Probably too quiet.
She laughed softly to herself.
‘You are perverse. One minute it’s too noisy, the next it’s too quiet. Nothing’s ever right.’
Still, from Monday things would liven up with the refurb starting. And she’d finally get to meet her landlord, the broodingly sexy Michael Harding. Whatever that implied.
Well, she hoped it turned out right and he didn’t have an ulterior motive. Here she was trying to work out what broodingly sexy might mean, when all the time he might be going to give her notice or put up her rent. It wouldn’t be unreasonable if he did, but it would be the last straw.
Roger’s pension kept the girls in uni. The tearoom provided the means to keep her and Stephen and run the house, but the balance was fine and she didn’t need anything unexpected thrown into the equation.
There was always the trust fund, but she had no intention of touching that, even if she could. It was Stephen’s, from some unknown distant cousin who’d died intestate; it had been passed down to him as the man’s youngest living relative, which was apparently how the law worked. She wasn’t going to argue, and as only one of the trustees she wasn’t sure she could get access to it, even to provide for her son. Still, to know it was there was like a safety net, carefully invested for the future.
Whatever that might hold. Maybe Monday would bring some answers.
She went home, cutting the corner to where their pretty Georgian house stood at right angles to the tearoom, centred on the left hand side of the square. Like the Ancient House, Beech House occupied a prominent position in the centre of the village, its elegant, symmetrical façade set back behind a low wall enclosing the pretty front garden.
