Chapter Six
‘Here we go, girls.’ Tamara strode out from the pub kitchen carrying two loaded plates. ‘You’re my guinea pigs today. These are two of the recipes I’m trying out for our Decadent December Desserts specials. The first is a spiced Victoria Sandwich cake. I brushed the cooked and cooled cake with a lightly spiced sugar syrup, added a touch of the same spices to the cream and used a tart blackcurrant jam to change it up. There are also mincemeat, fresh lemon and clotted cream shortbread fingers.’ Tamara set the plates on the table before flopping into the nearest vacant chair between Melissa and Josie. ‘I need your honest opinions so don’t be shy.’
Josie snorted. ‘As if.’
Evelyn had sent a group message asking anyone free this morning to join her and her sister for coffee. If curiosity killed the cat, there would be an awful lot of dead moggies around Penworthal. Tamara knew for a fact that Josie had switched shifts and Melissa had postponed a Zoom meeting with one of her authors by claiming a fictitious cold, all so they wouldn’t miss out. Amy was furious she couldn’t get out of being in court today. Laura was all set to come and bring the baby with her, but Josephine had been poorly in the night so they were stuck at home. Becky wasn’t here yet and no one knew if she was on her way or not.
‘OMG, this sponge is awesome.’ Melissa exhaled a happy sigh and licked a blob of cream off her fingers.
‘It passes your dry-cake test, I hope?’ Tamara asked. It was something of a standing joke that her American friend didn’t have a high opinion of most British cakes.
‘Oh, it sure does. Nathan would wolf this down too.’
‘You know what you’re doing all right.’ Josie chimed in. ‘I’m not a huge mincemeat fan, but you haven’t put too muchin the shortbread and the lemon makes all the difference.’ She snatched another off the plate.
‘Tell us quick, before they arrive,’ Melissa said. ‘You said you had something on our mystery guest — so dish the dirt.’
Tamara leaned in closer. ‘Chloe was home from uni and working in the shop on Saturday. Vernon had heard the gossip about Evelyn’s sister coming and knew Chloe was in here on Friday evening, so he asked for all the details of what she’d heard. Apparently, Vernon is the same age as Ophelia and they went to school together. He reckons there was some sort of family row and Ophelia left. Hasn’t been back since.’
‘What was it about?’ Melissa asked.
‘He either wouldn’t say, or didn’t know.’
‘I didn’t expect such a wonderful turnout on a Monday morning.’ Evelyn’s brisk voice put a stop to their speculations. ‘I’d like you all to meet my sister, Ophelia.’
The woman, who took a dainty step forward, made Tamara feel like a huge, ungainly lump. Her birdlike figure, expertly cut dark hair, subtle make-up and beautifully cut black wool trousers and grey silk blouse all screamed French chic. And money. Ophelia obviously subscribed to Wallis Simpson’s mantra that a woman could never be too rich or too thin. Tamara couldn’t help wondering why she’d made the sudden move from France. Judging by the sisters’ awkward body language, it seemed unlikely that loving and missing each other topped the list of reasons.
‘Bonjour, mes amis.’ Ophelia’s piercing gaze swept around them all. ‘Evelyn’s told me so much about your little group. I had no idea book clubs were still a thing, but I suppose in out-of-the-way places where there’s nothing else to do, you have to make your own entertainment.’ The implication was that the group’s name was more than appropriate. ‘I believe I shall find it amusing to join you next month.’
The silence was deafening until Melissa tactfully jumped in and assured the acid-tongued stranger that she’d be very welcome.
‘Help yourself to cake and I’ll fetch the coffees.’ Tamara jumped back up.
‘I’ll have acafé au lait,’ Ophelia said peremptorily.
‘Sorry, but we only do Americano, latte or cappuccino.’ She resented the need to apologise. ‘I think a latte is the closest to what you’re used to.’
‘Perhaps, but the proportion of milk in a latte is much higher. Unappealingly so. Acafé au laitis far more coffee-forward. I will have an Americano instead. Black.’ The Gallic shrug made her disdain clear and Tamara’s hackles rose. Ophelia was as Cornish as her sister, so who did she think she was fooling with the sophisticated French act?
Ophelia’s brittle voice followed her to the bar as she sharply turned down Evelyn’s offer of cake with the dismissive statement that sheneverate between meals.
‘Who’s the snooty cow?’ Pixie whispered. ‘Has she got a poker up her bum?’
‘If she doesn’t, then it won’t be long before Evelyn shoves one there.’ Tamara’s prediction made her friend snort. ‘That’s her sister, Ophelia. She’s been living in France.’ She passed on their orders and Pixie soon had them ready for her to carry back.
The usual chatter started up again.
‘A little birdie tells me you were seen helping the hunky Mr Bennet out on Sunday. Stocking his shelves, were you?’ Melissa’s innuendo-laden comments set off a round of raucous laughter.
‘I only gave him a hand carrying a few boxes in.’ Tamara took a swig of hot coffee to cover the flush creeping across her cheeks.
‘If you say so.’ Josie smirked.
‘Has anyone else had a sneak peek at the new houses?’ By the time Tamara had told them about meeting Wilf Buckingham andeverything he’d said, the conversation changed tack. Melissa was all for welcoming the newcomers and making the most of their new ideas. Anything that made the village livelier and more of a community was good in her opinion. Evelyn, as expected, was a little more reserved in her judgement, needing proof that the new arrivals had staying power. And Josie said she didn’t have time for knitting groups and choirs, but if that’s what people wanted then it was fine by her. The response to Wilf’s idea of a village Christmas tree, though, was overwhelmingly positive.
Only Ophelia remained aloof, languidly sipping her coffee as though wondering how much longer she had to keep up the pretence of being interested.
‘How’s Quinten?’ Josie asked Evelyn, with a pointed stare. ‘I thought you were off to Lynmouth this weekend for that ballroom dancing thing?’
