They ordered their meals and things relaxed a little. Blythe got Sam talking about his business in between tucking into his desi mixed grill of seekh kebab, chicken tikka and lamb chops.
‘How did you get started?’ she asked.
‘I worked for a thatcher. The roofing kind, not the politician.’
‘Ah, so that’s how you knew about Murray’s cottage roof.’
‘It’s not often that kind of knowledge comes in handy but I know I can replace it myself when I need to. Anyway, I was working on a cottage in Devon when this guy started taking photos. That’s not unusual but he watched us for ages and then he came back the next day. I asked him why he was so interested and he said he was working with a film company who needed to build a thatched village for a Netflix series and they wanted to know how to do it. I told him he needed a skilled craftsman so he hired me. Building that set I realised there were a lot of props they bought in and then dispensed with afterwards. I made them an offer for some of it and within weeks it was being used on another production.’
‘That’s why you have the warehouse.’ Everything was starting to make sense.
‘Warehouse space in London is premium-priced. The one I have here is a much better central location, way bigger and far cheaper,’ he said, finishing his meal and leaning back in his seat.
‘Do you get to meet any of the actors? Phyllis, who lives around the corner from you, would love some celebrity gossip.’
‘Rarely. We do most of our job before the actors are brought in and then if we need to do anything more we work at night so we don’t interrupt filming. Although I have shared some crisps with Ralph Fiennes.’
‘Cool.’ She was impressed. ‘I once saw Ian Beale in Marks & Spencer’s – or the actor who plays him anyway,’ she said, feeling she had to share her only celebrity encounter, which if she was honest was unsubstantiated because she hadn’t seen the actor’s face; only that the woman on the checkout pointed at a man in a flat cap leaving the store, excitedly telling her she was sure it was theEastEndersactor.
‘That’s cool too,’ Sam said, although she felt he was humouring her. ‘Thanks for the meal. That was exceptional.’
‘Am I forgiven?’ she asked.
But before he could answer Leonora appeared at their table, pulled over a spare chair and sat down. ‘You must be Mr Ashton. Welcome.’ She thrust out a hand for Sam to shake. ‘Leonora Clarke, chair of the HCCC.’
Blythe watched the dread appear on Sam’s face. ‘Call me Sam but I’m really not—’
‘Has Blythe been telling you about your starring role in the Christmas celebrations?’ asked Leonora forcefully.
‘No, you see—’ began Blythe.
‘Why ever not? I thought you said you’d speak to him. Goodness, I knew I should have handled this myself. Mr Ashton, Sam, we need to meet as a matter of urgency. You will need to attend committee meetings. They aren’t onerous – two hours once a week.’ Sam looked horrified at the prospect. ‘There’s a lot to do,’ added Leonora.
Sam stared at Blythe, pulled in his bottom lip and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. ‘I’ve already explained to Blythe that neither I nor my property will be taking part.’
Leonora’s head recoiled so fast she looked like a startled tortoise retreating into its shell. ‘What?! But, but, but…’ She sounded like a broken moped.
‘Sorry,’ said Sam, getting to his feet. He stared Blythe down. ‘I can’t believe I fell for your friendly chat, when all you were doing was planning an ambush. There was me thinking you were half decent after all. How wrong was I?’ He turned and left.
11
16thOctober
10 weeks until Christmas
Blythe had lots of things on her mind as both home and work were giving her grief, mainly the ongoing stand-off between Sam and the Holly Cross Christmas Committee, trying to organise the sexy Santa dinner, plus Amir who was trying to undermine her at work at every opportunity. Since he’d walked out of the pub, Sam Ashton had virtually ignored Blythe. He’d made sure he was out or on the phone when she called round to feed Turpin and only gave her the most cursory of acknowledgements if they passed each other in the village. She didn’t really care what Sam Ashton thought of her; however, shedidcare about the Holly Cross Christmas display and more importantly the indomitable force that was Leonora. She also hated the idea of losing a bet.
The moment Blythe walked into the village hall Leonora was locked on to her like a scarf-wearing missile. ‘Blythe! What are you doing about Sam Ashton?’
Blythe wasn’t going head-to-head with Leonora so she sidestepped her and the issue. ‘I’m not doing anything. It’s up to him whether he takes part or not.’ She pulled out a chair and tried to start a conversation with Arthur about how best to replace the scary inflatable snowman from last year’s display. The thing had massive eyebrows worthy of anyLove Islandcontestant.
Leonora pulled out the chair at the head of the table, making a skin-crawling screech across the floor and instantly diminishing the chatter. ‘I must insist,’ said Leonora. ‘It’s you who sold him the cottage without full disclosure of the commitment that came with the property. Buying here is tantamount to a binding contract to participate.’ There were a few nodding heads around the table although most were trying to avoid eye contact.
‘Leonora, whilst the committee members are all committed to a Holly Cross Christmas, in all its charitable intent and madness, I’m afraid not everyone feels the same.’ Leonora opened her mouth but Blythe continued, ‘And however much we would want any new Holly Cross residents to enter into the spirit of the village displays, we cannot force them to participate and buying a property here certainly doesn’t constitute a contract, binding or otherwise.’
Thankfully Norman, Vicky and Princess the dog chose that moment to enter the hall, although it appeared Princess’s attendance wasn’t wanted. ‘Heel! Stay! Stop!’ yelled Vicky, as the large dog excitedly careered around the hall bumping into chairs, tables and Leonora’s flip chart. Leonora gasped as the flip chart toppled but thankfully Blythe stuck out her hand and grabbed it when it was a centimetre off landing on Leonora’s head. Leonora glared at Blythe as if it was her who had tried to bludgeon her with it.
‘You’re welcome,’ said Blythe under her breath, righting the board.
