‘Roger McDodger wasn’t the deep end?’
‘Oh, you’ve seen nothing yet. Tell you what, we’ll eat and then I’ll introduce you to some of the locals.’
‘OK, sounds like a plan. At least if I die it will be on a full stomach.’
‘Oh, don’t make such a fuss, they’re not a murderous horde.’ Rosy paused and looked at him and then, disconcertingly, laughed. ‘Well, not most of them.’
Matt slid into his own chair, looping Scramble’s lead around it. ‘Great, now I am terrified. But I shall combat my fear if you tell me a bit more about this place. It’s such a weird setup.’
Rosy’s eyes narrowed, bearing a scary similarity to Roger’s from earlier – maybe it was a Cornish thing. ‘Weird, how?’
‘Oh, no, not in a bad way but, well, for example, that drum kit and small stage.’ Matt pointed to the items at the end of the room. ‘Those are unusual things to have in a dining area, don’t you agree? Most restaurants don’t have a drum kit in them. Or a harp!’
Rosy broke into a huge smile that reached not just both ears but maybe the tips of her eyes too. ‘Well, you might find out later. Unless they’ve killed you first.’
‘If ‘ee gonna do that can ‘ee take it off the premises, please,’ came Roger’s voice over Matt’s shoulder. ‘Last murder took months to shift. Blood’s a bugger, you know.’ He placed two plates of steamingly hot heaven in front of them and smiled, first at Rosy and then at Matt. ‘Now, ‘twas the badger you both ordered, weren’t it?’
Chapter Eight
Matt rocked back on his seat. It turned out that the first bite of badger was delicious, remarkably like roast beef and served with horseradish so he was willing to gamble and eat the rest. Not that he was going to let Rosy know this; she was going to get a hard time for pretending he was eating roadkill. Teasing her was so much fun. She flared up a little every time, just until she would see him grin and then she would back down again, occasionally kicking his shins as she did so and then wincing in case she had hit Scramble instead. He chose not to assure her that Scramble was far too quick to be caught out by a foot, and was especially alert when there was a chance of food.
Rosy was easy company; they seemed to spend the whole time giggling at something or other. Lunch was only just starting but he didn’t want this afternoon to end for a while yet. He wasn’t sure what the rest of the day would bring but he knew he was going to enjoy it. He couldn’t remember a time he had felt this relaxed. He knew there must have been one, but right now was perfect. Content silence.
‘Make way! Make way!’ brayed a voice from across the room, causing Matt’s content silence to be punctured and his head to spin around. Not before he noticed Rosy’s smirk as she carried on eating.
The door burst open and a gaggle of people, six it seemed, piled through, all in fancy dress and carrying instruments. There were breeches and capes, gowns and headdresses. With them were instruments; some were stringed, one looked like a banjo, and another carried an old-fashioned-looking drum. They whooshed through the dining room like minor celebrities, heading to pop their instruments on the stage at the far end, but stopping and talking to people on the way. They worked the room, nodding, greeting, kissing and occasionally twanging their instruments as they went.
‘Aye, aye, my fair maiden, I hope you’re behaving as behoves a lady of such grace.’ The leader of the group paused at their table, eyeing up Matt, who with a forkful of food to his mouth put it back on his plate and smiled in welcome.
‘Don’t be daft!’ responded Rosy as she leapt to her feet and was enveloped in a whirl of velvet and mwah-y kisses.
‘Well, recent evidence suggests you have been playful of late.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, shut up and meet Matt. He’s moved into Mary’s house so I thought I’d come and introduce him to the village.’
‘Well, in that case, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sire.’
Matt didn’t know whether he should answer in medieval, Cornish or just tug a forelock. All of the options seemed a bit ridiculous. Oh, bloody hell, he hated fancy dress. And now it felt like the whole room was watching him, as if there were some subtext he was unaware of. Bloody villages! He shook the man’s hand and muttered some pleasantries, as innocuous as he could make them, and breathed a sigh of relief as Rosy sat back down and his new acquaintance continued around the room preening and peacocking at the attention.
‘Are they in every Sunday?’
‘No, it’s every other Sunday. Don’t mind Dave, he talks nonsense – you wait, you’ll see.’
Matt was not sure he wanted to. Could it have been Dave that Rosy had had in her house earlier? What was all that behaving and behoving nonsense? For goodness’ sake, who on earth in the world paraded around dressed as a medieval musician without having serious issues? He bet Dave sat at home in sweatpants spending far too much time on the Internet when he wasn’t playing dress-up. What an idiot. Sire! Bloody ridiculous.
Woah! Where had his aggression come from? Was this jealousy? Right, that wasn’t happening! Firstly, he was not the jealous type – it was small-minded and ineffective – and secondly, there was no way Rosy would be sleeping with a medieval troubadour, surely not. And if she was, which she wasn’t, it was none of his business anyway. He had enough to contend with, concentrating wholly on his career, the gardens and nothing else.
He stopped his internal rant and watched Rosy pull Scramble out from under the table. The dog jumped straight onto her lap and she fed him titbits of fat dipped in gravy from her plate.
‘You made my friend Lynne’s day yesterday.’ Rosy carried on fussing his dog, not looking him in the eye as she spoke.
‘I did? Slightly scary. How?’
‘Well, OK, not you specifically, sorry. But she was making a great fuss about Angelina being in the village. I think she’s a bit of a super-fan.’
‘Ah, yeah, she seems to have that effect on people. Slightly beyond me, I must admit. She’s a bit of a monster once you get to know her.’
‘Oh, I had heard she had therapy and was lovely now.’ Rosy gasped a millisecond after she spoke, clearly embarrassed for implying Ange could be anything but a joy.
