‘It was a possibility at some point, but now Ophelia’s here I’m far too busy. Quinten understands. We’ve spoken on the phone a few times.’ Underneath the brisk tone lurked a clear air of disappointment. ‘We should be going.’ Evelyn slipped her coat back on.
It saddened Tamara to see her friend’s hair fixed back in its old, severe style and the more flattering colours she’d started wearing nowhere to be seen. ‘We’re off to Truro so Ophelia can shop for a few things.’
‘I doubt I’ll find anything stylish, but sometimes one has to make do.’ The dismissive comment came with another of Ophelia’s sweeping glances that encompassed them all, and their surroundings. ‘Au revoir.’
There was a round of muted goodbyes, followed by stony silence until the sisters were out of earshot.
‘So, who else around here might know what the story is with Evelyn and Madame Prissy?’
She had to smile. Melissa would get to the bottom of this if she died trying. ‘No idea. Some of us have to get back to work. Pixie needs milk from the shop and I need a word with Mr Cheerful himself about the possible Christmas tree. See you later, girls.’
* * *
Through the shop window, Gage spotted the woman who’d filled his thoughts since yesterday rushing out of the pub and racing off down the road. He dithered for a minute, then grabbed his keys and hurried out of the door, remembering just in time to lock it behind him. Before he could call out to her, Tamara dived into Vernon Bull’s shop. Without stopping to wonder why he was so intent on chasing after her, Gage set off in a loping half-jog, half-walk.
The bell jangled when he threw open the door and the next thing he knew, his forehead cracked on the low oak beam. The wood won. He stumbled, tripped over a display of toilet rolls and crashed to the floor in a crumpled heap.
‘Oh, my God — are you all right?’
It was almost worth the pain shooting through his bad knee when Tamara tore herself away from talking to Vernon and raced across to bend over him. She was close enough that her subtle spicy perfume overrode the pungent smell of disinfectant from the nearby shelf of cleaning supplies. He worked on breathing through the shock so he could assess whether getting back on his feet was a possibility.
‘Should we fetch the doctor? Hopefully Judy’s in the surgery.’ Worry seeped the colour from her skin.
‘Hang on a minute.’ Gage managed to roll up to sitting.
‘Let me take a look.’ The shopkeeper muscled in. ‘I’m St John’s Ambulance Brigade. I’ve done the course.’
It wouldn’t be tactful to point out that his own battlefield first-aid training trumped the shopkeeper’s any day. He’d learned the hard way that there weren’t always qualified medics around when you needed them.
Tamara crouched beside him. ‘If you feel it’s the right thing to do, we’ll help you up. Vernon, could you bring a chair?’ She threw the man a pointed look, and he huffed but disappeared towards the back of the shop.
Gage rubbed his sore head and decided it wasn’t too bad, although he’d probably have a knot in it later. He cautiously stretched out his left leg and massaged the knee. The pain had settled to a nagging ache. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s only twisted.’ Not that ‘only twisted’ was good, but in comparison to the alternatives he’d take it.
‘Here you go, son.’ Vernon set an old wooden chair next to them. His brow was knotted with worry. No doubt he was afraid Gage would sue him. ‘Think you’re up to it?’
Gage opened his mouth to warn them he wasn’t a lightweight, but shut it equally fast when Tamara pinned him with a stern glare. It said if he didn’t believe she was capable of lifting him with one hand tied behind her back, he was a bigger idiot than she’d thought.
‘I think so. Thanks.’ It didn’t escape his notice that she swiftly positioned herself on his left side to take the majority of the strain. Halfway up, Vernon lurched so Tamara slid her arm around Gage’s waist to steady him and relieve the pressure on his leg.
‘Tea, I think, Mr Bull. Plenty of sugar.’
There was no medical proof that the common remedy beloved by all British people worked, but in houses all over the country, and on innumerable television shows, they used it for everything. Tea was accepted as the universal cure. Actually, Gage detested sweet drinks. In fact, he rarely touched sweetthings of any sort. Another of Tamara’s quelling looks came his way, so he didn’t say a word.
‘When you’ve had your drink, we’ll either take you to the surgery or call Judy to come here. Your choice.’
Before he had a chance to decide which was the lesser of the two evils, Georgie Rowe came in.
‘Oi, what’s up with you, mate?’ The builder simultaneously peered at Gage and selected a tin of peas.
By the time Vernon had pompously run through an inordinately detailed explanation, several more customers had trickled in. The whole rigmarole was gone through again until Gage felt like a zoo exhibit. The shopkeeper would start selling tickets soon.
‘I’ll fetch my car to run you up to the surgery,’ Tamara said firmly. ‘Don’t you dare move until I get back. I’ve still got Toby’s crutches in my garage from when he broke his ankle. You can use those.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No probs.’
The door bell tinkled again and Gage glanced up to see who else had arrived to join the festivities.
