“Yes.” Then he catches my meaning. “Not identical. Actually, we look nothing like each other.”
An odd expression passes over his face, like a shadow, then he blinks and give me half a smile. “Liam, my brother worked here for a few years and seems to have endeared himself to everyone. I’m just benefitting from the good will he …”
His voice roughens very slightly, but he doesn’t say more.
There’s a shadow of guilt, or something like it. But I don’t ask. Clearly, he doesn’t feel comfortable sharing.
“Hello. And you must be Lessa.” Millie comes over with a wide dimply smile. “What can I get you?”
“Nothing. I’m actually looking for George. Is he around?” Brandon stands up, but Millie waves him back into his seat.
“Around, yes. But not here.” She sighs. “He’s lost a bet to his father and has to take part in some of the races. Is it important?”
“A bit.”
“Then you’d better go to find him, he might be at the three-legged race or the apple catching. He’ll be ever so grateful for an excuse to get out of it.”
“Wait here.” Brandon pushes his chair back. “I’ll find him.”
Millie watches him go then turns back to me. “Nice to meet you. Tea? Coffee? Or something else?”
“No, no.” I rush to interrupt her then realise how rude I must sound. “Just some sparkling water, thank you.”
She hovers a bit.
“Please don’t let me keep you. I can see you’re busy.”
And she is busy. A constant stream of customers pop by to either take a table for a light lunch or to buy pre-wrapped sandwiches, cakes, and biscuits. How easy it all seems to have no worries greater than dealing with customers, to have your biggest problem be the transport of so many cupcakes and baked goods from wherever the real Blue Sage Café is to this field without the help of a van. What wouldn’t I give to have such small worries.
Because if anything could makeAlice Trapper the Slappereven more impossible, it is thepomegranate. I can just imagine what Clive’s father-in-law and mentor would say. Sir Alan is not known for his compassion.
Don’t think about this now. Today all I need to focus on is the hard-to-find-George and whether I should move into a hotel first or find a more permanent apartment.
If I’m to keep the gutter press away from the Little Pomegranate – my hand rests briefly on my queasy tummy – I’ll have to hide out quickly before it starts to show.
“Are you ready to order?” A young waitress in jeans and apron stops by with a tray full of something disgusting. “We have a lovely wild mushroom omelette. The mushrooms were picked in the woods yesterday and the eggs are from a local farm. Would you like a slice?”
The mere smell of eggs makes me gag. I shake my head and try to swallow down the nausea.
“Susie.” Millie calls from the counter. “Why don’t you take over from me?”
Susie leaves me alone and goes to sell things to customers who want to be sold things.
I keep my eyes on the horizon and wait for my stomach to settle back in its place.
The fair must be reaching its peak. I can hear music, bells, and shouted laughter. Most of the customers drift away to follow the noise, and the café empties a bit.
A clink of china draws my attention to my table. Millie is placing a teapot and cup in front of me. It smells of something fresh and herbal. There’s also a small plate with lemon slices. “Is it hitting you hard?” Millie takes the seat Brandon left.
“Excuse me?”
“Morning sickness?” Her expression is sympathetic.
The words die on my lips. My mouth is open, but it takes a few tries before I can speak. “Is it that obvious?”
“Well, Agnes popped in earlier, she was at the chemist’s earlier and noticed you bought a testing kit.”
I hadn’t even noticed any other customers. Then again, with all the worries on my mind, I might have missed an entire marching band.
