I’m relieved when the phone rings, breaking into the conversation – if a little surprised. Nobody’s phoned the shop since our arrival last Saturday. I’m saying, ‘Excuse me a sec’ to Minty and mentally rehearsing how I’ll answer (Hello, Borrow-a-Bookshop, Jude speaking, poshest voice, will do nicely), when Elliot’s broad form appears from nowhere and he snatches the phone from its charging station and stomps into the little kitchen with it. His hair obscured most of his face but I caught a wildness in his eyes that startled me.
‘That man…’ Minty whispers, peering after Elliot. ‘I didn’t catch his name?’
‘Elliot,’ I say.
‘His surname?’
Well, this is embarrassing. Did he ever tell me his surname? IthinkI’ve asked, but did he ever answer? ‘I…uh… can’t quite recall at the moment, Minty, sorry.’ Nope. No name’s coming to mind, and considering I know plenty of otherfarmore intimate stuff about him, I’m horrified enough that I blush. He knowsmyname, I’m sure of it. I’ll ask him when he comes back.
‘Do you know where he’s from?’ Minty’s eyes crinkle, she’s squinting after Elliot so hard. ‘I’m sure I recognise him. From a country family, is he?’
‘You’ll have to ask him that. He lives in Cambridge, I think, but I’ve no idea where his family are from. Dad’s in agriculture, he said.’
‘Hmm, well.’ Minty says it like she’s not sure she whether she believes me but she drops the subject, thankfully. ‘Jowan tells me you’re doing all the baking? For the café? He remarked that your scones were really rather decent.’
Decent? Is that posh for delicious? Or is she sniping? I can’t tell. She’s smiling though, or at least trying to.
‘Do you take commissions?’ she adds.
I’m guessing the surprise shows on my face yet again because she’s started speaking louder and more slowly. It’s pretty offensive.
‘Commissions? Do you bake to order?’
‘Umm, I’ve never been asked. I only do the cakes for the café.’
‘I’d pay you. Bovis, write a cheque. Or do you prefer cash?’
‘I’m not allowed to take money. All profits are to go into the till.’
‘This wouldn’t be shop business, would it? You’d be working for me.’
‘Oh!’
I definitely need some cash, and quick, to get me through the rest of my stay, so I tell her yes, I do take commissions, before she changes her mind, and after a few minutes I’ve received my orders, fired at me like a drill sergeant with a new army recruit.
I note down her instructions and she checks I know what I’ve to do before turning to her companion. ‘Come along, Bovis,’ she commands him, as though talking to a loyal hound. ‘Bring the bakes to Izaak’s booth by the estate entrance on Friday morning. Gates open at ten to visitors but you can come at nine-thirty. Toodle-pip, lots to do. The hunt won’t organise itself.’ And off they go, leaving me mulling over Minty’s last words.
Hunt?I thought she said it was a fox and field day, or something? Wouldn’t be surprised if they hunted newcomers to the village, frisking them to see if they’re marriage material. They’re all as bonkers as Mrs Crocombe round here.
Only when the shop door is firmly shut again does Elliot emerge from the kitchen, returning the phone, and I forget all about the possibility of being inveigled in some kind of hunt. ‘Wrong number,’ he tells me, and turns for the café again.
‘Elliot?’
‘Hmm?’ He spins to look at me, a little reluctantly, I think.
‘What’s your second name?’
‘Uh…’ His eyes dart around the shop as though looking for a covert to dive into to escape the question.
‘You do know your own surname, right?’
‘Of course, it’suh, Desvaux.’
I’d have remembered that name if he’d mentioned it before. He looks a little defeated, as though he’s disappointed in himself for telling me, or maybe he looks torn somehow. Definitely regretful.
‘Woo, fancy!’ I say, childishly, hoping he’ll smile and stop being so evasive. Hedoesn’tsmile and his eyes are big and round like he’s choking or something. ‘Minty was wondering if you were from a country family she might be acquainted with, like this isPride and Prejudiceand you were once introduced at the Meryton ball.’ I want him to laugh so badly, drop his shoulders and come to the counter to kiss me, but he just stands there frozen, his jaw grinding, not seeing the funny side of Minty’s snobbery at all.
‘I’d better get back to the café,’ he says, leaving me alone wondering how I could have spent the last few days sharing a bed with someone whose full name I didn’t even know. I’m starting to wonder what else I don’t know about him.
