‘Yes, that’s Jefferson. He’s ever so kind, thoughtful, and rather dashing, wouldn’t you agree? Mapleville is like a little slice of heaven. Perpetual sunshine, delightful company and wonderful coffee. What more could a girl want?’
Greta nodded. Life in Mapleville did seem charming, like a storybook come to life. ‘I wish my own life was so shiny, or at least less complicated,’ she sighed.
‘Compli . . . cated?’ Millie stretched out the word, as if she’d never used it before.
‘Yes. You, know . . . we women spend so much time trying to be what others expect—wives, mothers, daughters. Always performing, in a way. But right now, none of those roles feel like the right fit for me.’
Millie studied Greta for a moment. Then she reached behind her neck to unfasten her pearls. ‘There you are,’ she said, holding them out. ‘Do try these on.’
Greta blinked at them, shimmering in a shaft of light. She couldn’t help wondering if they were real or imitation. ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly . . .’
‘But of course you can. They’ll suit you.’ Millie stood and stepped behind Greta, draping the necklace around her collarbone. ‘Pearls have a certain je ne sais quoi, don’t you think? They add a touch of elegance, a gentle reminder that you are, indeed, rather special.’ She fastened them in place.
Greta touched the pearls, cool against her skin. They were something she’d never usually wear, but they somehow made her want to sit tall. ‘They feel beautiful and kind of . . . powerful . . .’
‘So are you,’ Millie replied simply. ‘And youdeserveto feel that way.’
It was a long time since anyone had spoken to Greta like that, and even longer since she’d let herself believe it. It was the kind of lovely thing her mum used to say.
‘Thank you.’ She blushed, holding her coffee cup to her lips. ‘My mum would have loved this necklace.’
‘You must certainly show it to her.’ Millie smiled.
Greta swallowed and lowered her cup, a choke rising in her throat. ‘Mum passed away earlier this year,’ she said. ‘She spent her final few weeks watching re-runs and clips of old TV programmes and commercials. She particularly loved the Maple Gold ones, said they whisked her away to a nicer world.’
‘I’m so sorry. That must have been tough,’ Millie said softly. After hesitating for a while, she added, ‘You mentioned commercials?’
‘Oh, you know, the smiling ladies, charming men, friendly chats over the garden fence, and chic dinner parties—all fuelled by cups of Maple Gold,’ Greta said. ‘My family starred in the ads for ten years . . .’
Millie shook her head. ‘I’ve never had the pleasure of viewing them, but they sound utterly delightful.’
Greta knew not everyone would have seen or remembered the ads. Millie didn’t appear to know she was living in a town originally designed for a coffee commercial.
‘Do tell me more about your mother,’ Millie said.
Greta was happy to do so.
‘She was different to other mums. When I was young, she would wear imitation Chanel suits to the supermarket while everyone else was in jeans and T-shirts. She was part of a local theatre company, always starring in one play or another. My friends used to think she was the epitome of glamour.’
‘Style and class? She sounds like my kind of lady,’ Millie said, her eyes twinkling. ‘When you shine, the world shines with you, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose it does.’ Greta smiled. She’d never considered this before, and it definitely applied to her mum. ‘When I was a young girl, I used to put on one-person shows for Mum at home, using my toy animals as the audience. I even made paper tickets to hand out. I think, in a way, her love of performing became mine, too.
‘Sometimes, if I couldn’t sleep, I’d creep downstairs to find her watching TV in the dark. I’d snuggle up next to her, and we’d discuss the characters together. My parents’ marriage wasn’t the happiest, so I think Mum found solace in fiction. My dad finally left us when I was ten.’
‘An unhappy marriage?’ Millie frowned as if she didn’t quite understand.
Greta raised a surprised eyebrow, unsure how to explain. ‘Sometimes people just aren’t right for each other. Or, theyshouldbe together, but can’t seem to make things work.’
‘Ah,’ Millie replied, as if the concept was still foreign. ‘I’ve always seen marriage as two people who love each other and have made a commitment to stay together. My husband, Jefferson, and I are very happy.’
Greta supposed there’d been many happy couples in the Maple Gold commercials over the years. ‘That’s probably the ideal, but it’s not always so simple.’
She’d come here to escape the complexities of her own marriage, not to dwell on them, and she breezily steered the conversation elsewhere. ‘Anyway, that’s enough about me. What about you? What do you do here in Mapleville?’
Millie sighed contentedly. ‘I have plenty to keep me busy,’ she said. ‘I love managing my little boutique, tending to my garden, hosting our delightful coffee mornings, and spending time with Jefferson . . .’ Her eyes glimmered for a moment, as if searching for a thought but not quite reaching it. ‘And, of course, I adore a rich cup of Maple Gold. It always brightens one’s day. What’s not to love?’
‘Absolutely nothing. Everything here is wonderful,’ Greta said. A prickle of heat circled her neck, and the room was beginning to feel stuffy. She set aside her cup, leaving some coffee in the bottom. ‘I should be heading off,’ she said.
