she had no recollection of having been given it. ‘I don’t think she gave it to me,’ she said, certain now that she hadn’t.
‘It’s here,’ said Tasha, picking it up off the counter. ‘Easy to miss. It was partially hidden underneath your red book.’
‘Of course it was. I remember now.’ Marigold watched Tasha give the note to Daisy. ‘You’d better start doing your Sudoku,’ said Daisy.
‘Yes, I will,’ said Marigold, hiding behind a smile the anxiety that was shrinking her heart. She suddenly felt rather unwell. ‘I think I need some tea,’ she said. ‘Tasha, man the shop for a minute, will you? Yes, a cup of tea is just what I need.’ And she hurried across the courtyard to the kitchen, her face taut with worry.
After closing the shop at the end of the day Marigold rushed off to attend a committee meeting for the Christmas fair, which was due to take place in the church hall at the beginning of December. The meeting was hosted by the vicar’s wife, Julia Cobbold, in the Old Vicarage, an austere flintstone mansion lacking both warmth and charm, but impressive in size and history because it had been built in the time of Henry VIII and boasted a priest hole which had allowed persecuted men of the cloth to escape via a secret stair and an underground tunnel. Julia was very proud of her house but Marigold knew to take a shawl because the place was always cold, even with the great fires burning.
She walked up the road. The ice had melted and the tarmac glistened with slush, but it was no longer dangerous. Nan hadn’t slipped and broken her neck, which was a blessing, but now she was claiming that black ice would take her instead, because unlike snow it was impossible to see. It had been a long day and Marigold really wanted to put her feet up. But she’d never missed a meeting and, apart from feeling weary, there was no reason why she should.
As she made her way up the Cobbolds’ drive she heard the screech of an owl close by. She stopped, cocking her ear to ascertain from where it came. Then she spotted it. Although it was dark, the moon was bright and she could see, in the crook of a tree, the unmistakable white face of a barn owl. She stood still and watched. A moment later two more appeared. Three owlets peered out with their big, curious eyes, as they waited for their mother to return to feed them. Marigold was enchanted. For a long while she was lost there, beneath the tree, and the joy of finding herself the lucky spectator of such a heart-warming scene gave her a surge of energy so that when she arrived, finally, at the front door of the Old Vicarage, she was feeling herself again. Positive, lively and ready to take on whatever challenge was thrown her way.
‘Ah, Marigold,’ said Julia when she opened the door and saw Marigold standing there with her nose red from the cold. Julia looked typically chic in a pair of olive-green slacks and matching sweater. Marigold noticed the gold buckles on her court shoes, which matched her gold earrings and the chain necklace hanging over her bosom, giving her a sophisticated air. Marigold couldn’t help but think how much easier it was to look polished when one was tall and slim like Julia. ‘The last to arrive,’ Julia added, a touch impatiently.
‘Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t help but stop and watch those dear little barn owls.’
‘Barn owls?’ Julia frowned. ‘Are they back again?’
‘Haven’t you seen them?’ Marigold couldn’t imagine having a family of owls on her property and not knowing about it.
‘They were here last year. How nice. Come on in. We need to get this meeting underway as I have a dinner at eight and I need to get ready.’
Marigold followed Julia into the drawing room, which was large and square with a fire burning unenthusiastically beneath a mantelpiece displaying a row of stiff white invitations embellished with flouncy gold writing. Floral-patterned sofas and armchairs were assembled around a coffee table, laden with big glossy books on art, and on these uncomfortable pieces of furniture perched the four other members of the committee, being careful not to disturb the pointy, diamond-shaped cushions which were arranged behind them in tidy rows.
Marigold smiled at the women, all of whom she knew well. Among them was Beryl Bailey, her dearest friend. Beryl was