The Language Of Spells Part 19

Gwen forced a smile. 'Well, he's right.'

'What about your stock, though? Mum said you sold stuff. At car boot sales.'

'Not exactly car boots.' Gwen kept her voice light. 'More like antique fairs, craft markets, that kind of thing.'

Katie pulled a face. 'Sounds boring.'

'It can be.'

'So where is it?'

'What?'

Katie sighed. 'Your stock. Your business stuff.'

'I used to use a storage facility in Birmingham.'

'More renting?'

Gwen crossed her arms. 'It makes sense; I can move it if I want to, although Birmingham is quite handy. Kind of in the middle of the country.'

'But you don't use it any more?'

'No. I've downsized. I just keep my stock in Nanette now.'

'It's not a big business then.'

'Not any more. No.'

'Why not?'

Gwen, who had once withstood four hours of police questioning, gave in. 'Things haven't been going so well. Between you and me, the business is pretty much washed-up.'

'Oh.' Katie paused. 'What are you going to do?'

'I have no idea,' Gwen said. She felt a loosening in her chest as soon as the words were out. It didn't seem as awful to admit as she'd thought.

'What do you want to do?'

Gwen forced a smile. 'Now that's a difficult question.' I want to run my business and make enough money so that I don't keep waking up in the night in a panic. I don't want to have the Finding. I want to live a quiet, normal life.

'You should move your business stuff into the house. Then you can work on it properly.' Katie threw her arms wide. 'You've got this whole place.'

'Well-'

'But you're not staying?' Katie let her arms drop.

Gwen was stung by how hurt Katie looked. She took a step towards her. 'I don't have any plans-'

'When are you selling this place? Just give me some warning, okay? I don't want to come by after school and get slapped in the face by a For Sale sign in your front garden.'

'I don't have any plans to sell this house, Katie,' Gwen said as gently as she could. 'I can't for a while, anyway, and I might stay. I like it-'

'But not enough to move your stock in. Or your stuff from the van. Yeah, you're not staying.' Katie flung open the back door and headed into the garden, throwing over her shoulder, 'Mum was right.'

'Hey.' Gwen caught up with her halfway down the lawn. 'I might stay. I've never had a proper home before, so I don't really know how I'm supposed to feel.'

Katie rubbed her arms. Her nose was already pink from the cold. 'Whatever. You've gotta do what you've gotta do.' She pointed at the outbuilding. 'That would make a good stockroom, though. You could make it into an office. For your computer, packaging stuff, all that.'

'I don't use a computer.'

Katie looked at her pityingly. 'You should. Take a cla.s.s or something.'

'Why?' Gwen said, ready to hear the joys of BookFace or VidTube.

'Sell your stuff online. Much better than hanging around crusty old fairs.'

'Crusty?'

'Probably. And wet. I bet you get rained on all the time.'

'Sometimes,' Gwen said, feeling a little faint.

'Let's look.' Katie crossed to the building and pushed at the door.

'It's locked.' Gwen got the key and opened it. Katie was right. The s.p.a.ce was perfect. Before, she'd been distracted by mysteries and magic and silly superst.i.tion, but she could see the shelves full of stationery and mailing supplies, and a computer desk on the far wall. She could store things up above in the half-boarded loft, use the table in the middle for packing.

'What's it called? Your shop.'

'Curious Notions.'

Katie wrinkled her nose. 'Could be worse.'

'Thanks,' Gwen said dryly. 'Haberdashery like bobbins, needles and b.u.t.tons is called "notions" and I just liked the way it sounded.'

'Well, you probably need to stick with it. You've already got customers; you want them to be able to find you.'

'They can always find me; I do the same shows every year.'

'But you won't have to,' Katie said, clearly exasperated. 'That's the whole point. You won't have to trail around the place any more. You can stay here.'

Gwen smiled at her. 'Do you want me to stay here?'

Katie gave her a superior look. 'I don't care one way or the other.'

'Right.' Gwen's smile widened. 'I love you too, honeybunch.'

The next day, Gwen crossed the town bridge, leaving the jumbled cottages and cobbled streets for the grander town houses on the other side of the river. Cameron Laing territory. She started scouting the pavements, as if her desire to see him would make him magically appear. The houses climbed the hill, creamy sandstone peeking from behind evergreens and the bare branches of oak and elm.

The Greenhouse restaurant was a monstrosity of modernism and gla.s.s awkwardly tacked onto a town house in what could only be described as a travesty of planning permission.

Patrick was already seated and he rose to meet her. 'I ordered you a gin and tonic, but I can get you something else if that's wrong.'

Gwen had resolved to be as awkward as possible, but now found she didn't have the energy. 'That's fine,' she said, taking off her coat. A waiter materialised just as she did and tried to help her with it.

'You look lovely,' Patrick said dutifully.

Gwen smiled. 'Thank you.' She had refused to dress up and was wearing an ancient T-s.h.i.+rt that had once been black but was now a washed-out grey; it had a cartoon of a cow on the front and the words 'moo power'.

'This is one of mine.' Patrick waved a hand, encompa.s.sing the tables, the waiting staff in their over-sized white ap.r.o.ns and, presumably, the kitchen area and toilets, too.

'Very nice,' Gwen said politely.

Patrick laid a hand on top of the menu, very obviously not bothering to look inside. 'I recommend the lobster.'

Gwen shook her head. 'I had seafood once. It gave me a funny tummy.'

Patrick's face wrinkled in disgust. A waiter appeared, hovering, and he smoothed it out. 'White wine to start, I think. Don't you?' He didn't wait for Gwen to answer, so she sat back a little in her chair and looked around while he displayed his intimate knowledge of the menu. The restaurant was about half full and Gwen counted three tables of older ladies. Groups of friends who had probably been meeting for lunches for years, sharing troubles and good times, going home knowing that, whatever happened, they had people on their side. In the far corner, at a small table, Gwen saw a familiar face. A face she had been expecting to see ever since blowing back into town. A face that she sometimes saw before she fell asleep at night. A face that represented every hateful att.i.tude, every disapproving look and whispered comment.

Elaine Laing looked the same. The neatly styled hair was streaked with silver and white and the neckline a little softer, but otherwise it was undoubtedly the same woman. Perfect posture, a teeny-tiny padded handbag and pearl earrings. Gwen straightened her spine. Elaine's companion looked familiar, too. When she turned her head slightly, Gwen caught sight of Lily's profile.

'I didn't know they knew each other.'

'Everyone knows everyone around here.' Patrick glanced back. 'Do you mean Elaine Laing?'

Gwen nodded. 'That's my neighbour, Lily. I didn't know they were friends.'

'Colleagues, really. They're both on the community council. And I think Lily got involved with Elaine's pet charity, too.'

'Charity?'

'Feline Leukaemia, I believe. Yes. Lily has done very well, really. You don't often see her sort getting involved at that level.'

'Her sort?' Gwen said. 'Do you mean because she was brought up in a council house?'

'No, no.' Patrick waved a hand,.'I just meant that she's made something of herself. It's admirable.'

'Right.' Gwen folded her hands carefully in her lap to stop herself from stabbing Patrick with a fork.

The waiter reappeared with a half bottle of chilled Sancerre. It was delicious and Gwen had to grudgingly admit that Patrick had good taste. In some areas, at any rate.

'I actually invited you for a reason,' Patrick said. He paused while another waiter placed rolls onto their side plates with tongs.

'Well, I figured you weren't trying to get into my pants,' Gwen said cheerfully. The bread roll slipped and she caught it and set it on her plate. She smiled rea.s.suringly at the blus.h.i.+ng waiter, who looked all of sixteen. He hurried away.

'Um...' Patrick said.

'Anyway, I called you. I wanted to talk to you about having a regular craft market in the town,' Gwen said. She b.u.t.tered her roll and took a large bite.

Patrick frowned. 'We can get to that later.' His crus.h.i.+ng tone signalled that 'later' meant 'never'. 'I actually wanted to ask you for a favour.'

'You and the rest of the world,' Gwen said, slightly m.u.f.fled. 'This bread is amazing.'

'Really?' Patrick frowned. 'Has Ed been to see you?'

'Ed?'

'He manages the Travelodge. I say "manages", but that's something of a matter of opinion.'

'Never met him.'

'Well, that's a relief.' Patrick cleared his throat again. 'As a new resident in the town, I was wondering how you felt about progress.'

'Are you a politician?'

'No. Not yet, anyway.' Patrick gave a little laugh. 'I own some businesses in Pendleford and I take a keen interest in the future of the town.'

'And what can I do for you?'

'It's just a small thing,' Patrick said.

'What?' Gwen tried to keep the impatience out of her voice, but her social skills, rusty at best, were stretched to breaking point.

'Did Ms Harper leave you anything?'

'She left me End House,' Gwen said. 'As you are already aware.'

Patrick poked the asparagus on his plate. 'Did you inherit the contents, too?'

'You know I did. You've seen the furniture.' Gwen had a horrible feeling she knew what Patrick was going to say next.

'Right. Well. Did she leave papers of some kind? Diaries. That kind of thing.'

And there it was. Gwen thought about the sacks of paper: the notebooks, the receipts, the used envelopes with lists of numbers scrawled in biro. 'She left me everything and I haven't had a chance to go through it all yet.' Of course, she had a pretty good idea of which papers Patrick was particularly interested in. Iris's diaries.

'Completely understandable,' Patrick said.

'Did you know my great-aunt well?' Gwen said. She wondered whether Patrick knew about his unfaithful wife, and a very evil part of her imagined his face if she were to let him read that particular entry.

'Not well, no. We didn't move in the same circles.'

'So, you're interested in her diaries because-'

'May I be frank?' Patrick leaned forwards and, without giving Gwen time to say 'no', he continued. 'A lot of people visited your aunt. A lot of people had faith in her... um... abilities. It was a load of nonsense, of course a forgive me a but harmless nonsense, I'm sure.'

Gwen nodded. 'No worse than aromatherapy.'

'Exactly,' Patrick said, visibly annoyed at the interruption.