‘No point that being pretty but useless as well,’ said Lady Sherwood.
‘Quite, and Taran didn’t want it.’
‘Sadly not, after all the trouble I took to decorate it. It’ll be nice to have someone making use of it. Beautiful big room, lots of light, perfect for an artist, and she can get to know the dogs as she draws.’ She wandered into the kitchen to prepare lunch. ‘Nice girl. She really liked the dogs. And they liked her. I’m very excited about this, darling.’
Sir Owen poured himself a large glass of red wine and sat down at the kitchen table. Lady Sherwood took some smoked salmon and new potatoes out of the fridge. ‘I have a good feeling about her,’ she added. ‘I don’t know why, but she’s a breath of fresh air and that’s just what this house needs.’ Sir Owen wasn’t listening. He was reading the Sunday papers. Lady Sherwood envisaged Daisy in the barn, drawing, and herself popping in to check on her and chat, because Daisy was quite chatty. The thought warmed her. She’d been lonely in this big old house on her own while Owen was out on the farm, or more typically playing racquet sports with his friends. A lovely presence in the barn was just what she needed.
Chapter 8
The following morning Marigold crossed the courtyard to the shop. She went inside via the back door as she did every morning and turned on the lights. Rows of neatly arranged shelves lit up like a ship. She stood there a moment in the glare of electric light, uncertain of what to do next. She knew there was something she was meant to be doing, besides opening up for the day. She went to unlock the front door and tried to remember what it was. She strained her brain but nothing came. Just a blank. She was getting used to these blanks now and was gradually learning how to deal with them. The trick was to breathe, remain calm and wait for the fog to lift, which it always did, eventually.
She was distracted by an impatient rapping on the window. She blinked and focused and Eileen’s red face came into view, wrapped in a woolly hat and scarf. Her breath was misting in the cold and she was rubbing her mittens together to keep warm. Marigold unlocked the door and opened it.
‘Ooooh, it’s cold out here this morning,’ said Eileen, eagerly shuffling into the warmth.
Marigold had already been for her walk along the clifftops and had almost been knocked off them by the gale. ‘Very windy too. I think it might snow again,’ she said hopefully.
‘Wouldn’t that be lovely,’ said Eileen. ‘I love it when the village turns white.’
‘Why don’t you go and make yourself some tea in my kitchen,’ Marigold suggested. ‘Suze is in there, writing, but you won’t disturb her.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ said Eileen. ‘Would you like one?’
‘I’m fine for the moment, thank you.’ Eileen left through the back door and Marigold looked at her watch and wondered where Tasha was. Her attention was diverted by the little bell alerting her to another customer. It was the Commodore, in his three-piece tweed suit and trilby hat. The only indication that it was cold outside was the scarf around his neck and the heavy boots on his feet.
‘Good morning to you, Marigold,’ he said crisply. ‘Fine day, isn’t it?’
‘Very fine,’ said Marigold.
‘I caught a mole last night,’ he announced triumphantly.
‘How did you catch it?’ she asked.
‘Ah, that’s a very good question. First, I tried freezing them to death, but that didn’t work. They’d wised up to me, you see. Very cunning they are, these moles. Then I tried smoking them out and gassing them, but without success. I even tried Dettol and, as a last resort, shooting them from my bedroom window. But Phyllida told me off because my eyesight isn’t very good, you see, and she thought I’d shoot the dog by mistake.’ He leaned on the counter. ‘So I bought a trap. One of those traps you put down mole tunnels. Can’t think why I didn’t buy one before. I suppose I thought I could do it myself. I’ve always been a bit of a do-it-yourself man. It’s my training you see, in the Navy. Why get someone to do something for you if you can do it yourself.’
‘You bought a trap and captured a mole?’ Marigold scrunched up her nose. ‘Was it dead?’