‘It’s all right, she’s sent me a brief. Oh, and there are two extra people coming now.’ Xanthe tapped at another panel, keeping an altogether too bird-bright gaze on Izzy.
‘So, eight people total.’
‘At the moment.’
Izzy stared at her mother. ‘What do you mean, “at the moment”?’
‘There may be another two.’ Her mother’s fingers strayed to another panel and tapped again.
‘Another two,’ Izzy parroted again and glanced over at Jeanette who was trying and failing to hide a giggle.
‘What’s another two?’ her mother sang gaily.
Izzy rolled her eyes. ‘Well it’s another four, isn’t it?’
‘They are paying very handsomely. Which reminds me, I’ve ordered the most marvellous drinks trolley to go in the library. I thought that would be the perfect place for a pre-dinner whisky or a G and T. It’s going to look divine. Don’t worry,’ Xanthe said in her shrill voice. ‘I can see that expression on your face. The trolley was in the antiques shop in the village. It hardly cost anything.’
Xanthe’s idea of hardly costing anything was a long way from Izzy’s. The difference between a short hop to Ireland and a flight to Australia.
‘Honestly, Izzy, you’re such a killjoy.’
Jeanette hastily began to polish the windows again.
Thank goodness the Carter-Joneses were paying so much, although the seven thousand pound deposit was vanishing rapidly.
‘Remember we need to make some profit to pay for the roof,’ she reminded her mother.
‘You could open up to more guests. I’ve had another enquiry today.’
‘No, Xanthe!’ said Izzy with a stern wave of her finger. ‘As it is we’re going to have to prepare another bedroom and don’t forget I’ve got to cook for all these people. They’re probably expecting Michelin-star standards. I’m nervous enough as it is.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ said her mother, waving a hand.
‘No more guests.’ Izzy glared at Xanthe, who was now stretching up with a very unconvincing yawn, her fingers sliding along the wood dividing the flat panels.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Doing? Me?’ echoed her mother.
‘Yes. With the panelling?’
‘Checking for woodworm, darling. You know these old houses. Dreadful for woodworm.’
‘What? You were drumming them out, with the tapping?’ Izzy knew when her mother was up to something and she was definitely up to something. She had that fox-scenting-hens look about her, slightly cunning and a bit too blasé.
‘You’re looking for those sapphires, aren’t you?’
‘No,’ said Xanthe, her eyes widening with faux innocence that didn’t fool Izzy for a second.
‘What sapphires?’ asked Jeanette.
‘It’s an old legend. There’s absolutely no proof they ever existed,’ said Izzy, glaring at her mother.
‘Pish,’ said Xanthe and flounced out of the room.
Thank goodness Jim and Jeanette had worked out so well, as it was going to be all hands on deck. They were both hard workers and after their week’s trial, Izzy couldn’t imagine how she could do without them. Jim seemed to be able to turn his hand to anything when it came to fixing and mending things, the Dyson vacuum being a case in point – following its transformation, it had sucked up an eyewatering amount of dirt during its maiden voyage. He was also brilliant at hanging wallpaper and could work magic with a paint brush. Jeanette, meanwhile, was willing and extremely capable at anything she was asked to do with the sole exception of cooking. She really couldn’t cook. If Izzy had one small further niggle, it was that on occasion they were easily distracted by each other but they were young and in love and what did she know about such things? She’d pined for bloody Philip for so long, she was a dried-up old cynic.
Escaping from the kitchen to the quiet of her little study, Izzy picked up her phone.
