catch up.”
Rumer swirled around and Luke gave her a sheepish grin. Then she grabbed him in a non-fake hug that meant her body was pushed so close up against his that you couldn’t get a toothpick between them if you tried. It was probably illegal in over forty-seven countries. She leaned back and looked him full in the face.
“Smile again!” she ordered.
He smiled and I realised that his braces had been removed. In their place was a perfect set of white non-bucked teeth. Maybe that was the difference I’d noticed earlier that day. My childhood hero was gone.
“Well done, you. Grandma said you must come in and say hello. Mrs Skelton cooked a lemon tart this morning. Let’s hope it’s better than her muffin recipe.” She tucked her arm through Luke’s and escorted both the Harts to the front door, talking all the while, as I struggled behind with the luggage.
I had a strong feeling of deja vu.
Chapter 9
I shoved my mobile phone further down in my pocket as I stood in the entry hall – just in case Grandma decided I couldn’t keep it with me. I could hear Mrs Hart’s and Rumer’s voices competing against the low murmurs of my grandmother from the drawing room. As I dropped my largest suitcase to the floor, Mrs Skelton appeared at the top of the stairs, a duster in one hand, and a frown on her face.
“Hello, Mrs Skelton,” I said, loudly.
The poor woman was older than my grandmother – probably should have retired years ago. She’d come to Vinegar House ten years before, when Grandma had tripped on the front step and broken her wrist. The family had insisted that Grandma move closer to town.
“This is my home,” Grandma had said gruffly. “The only way I’m leaving here is in a pine box.”
Of course, that idea was ridiculous, a total lie, because Grandma would never settle for anything less than something in mahogany, with shiny brass handles and maroon satin lining. Still, she got her own way. Even the Colonel couldn’t make Grandma do something she didn’t want to.
The compromise was Mrs Skelton, who was supposed to be a live-in companion, but who also cooked most of the meals and kept a tidy house. This suited Grandma Vinegar who always walked about as if she were the Queen of England. Much better than just having a house cleaner come in once a week. She probably bragged about it to her friends.
Mrs Skelton was a tall woman with silver hair which she wore pulled back severely across her head. Her face was the colour of the calico at Miss Maudy’s Quilt Barn and was highlighted by cheekbones that reminded me of the Jolly Roger’s flag (which features a skull, if you don’t know). I’d caught her napping more than once in the afternoon sun in the drawing room or the library. Grandma had found Isabella and I giggling one day as Mrs Skelton sat in one of the library’s huge leather chairs, her head tipped back, and a snore rising from her like a motor.
“Mrs Skelton deserves a rest, don’t you think, girls?” Grandma had asked, her tone low and icy. “Perhaps you could help lessen her load?”
My sister and I spent the rest of the day cleaning the silverware until our hands were black from it and fingers sore from the rubbing.
“Hello, Mrs Skelton,” I repeated even louder.
She gave me a little wave, peering down through the gloom.
“Is that you, Erica?” she said.
“It’s Freya,” I told her, horrified that she would think I was my mother.
“Oh, yes.”
She told me to take my things to the Yellow Room, grumbling loudly as she polished at an errant mark on the staircase handrail.
“I don’t get paid enough for all this upset,” she said as I slid past her into my room.
Knowing my grandmother, she was probably right.
I dumped my things inside the bedroom door, then my phone buzzed – a missed phone call from Mum that had gone straight to message bank. I moved around the room for a better signal then returned Mum’s call, assuring her that I’d arrived safely
Rumer swirled around and Luke gave her a sheepish grin. Then she grabbed him in a non-fake hug that meant her body was pushed so close up against his that you couldn’t get a toothpick between them if you tried. It was probably illegal in over forty-seven countries. She leaned back and looked him full in the face.
“Smile again!” she ordered.
He smiled and I realised that his braces had been removed. In their place was a perfect set of white non-bucked teeth. Maybe that was the difference I’d noticed earlier that day. My childhood hero was gone.
“Well done, you. Grandma said you must come in and say hello. Mrs Skelton cooked a lemon tart this morning. Let’s hope it’s better than her muffin recipe.” She tucked her arm through Luke’s and escorted both the Harts to the front door, talking all the while, as I struggled behind with the luggage.
I had a strong feeling of deja vu.
Chapter 9
I shoved my mobile phone further down in my pocket as I stood in the entry hall – just in case Grandma decided I couldn’t keep it with me. I could hear Mrs Hart’s and Rumer’s voices competing against the low murmurs of my grandmother from the drawing room. As I dropped my largest suitcase to the floor, Mrs Skelton appeared at the top of the stairs, a duster in one hand, and a frown on her face.
“Hello, Mrs Skelton,” I said, loudly.
The poor woman was older than my grandmother – probably should have retired years ago. She’d come to Vinegar House ten years before, when Grandma had tripped on the front step and broken her wrist. The family had insisted that Grandma move closer to town.
“This is my home,” Grandma had said gruffly. “The only way I’m leaving here is in a pine box.”
Of course, that idea was ridiculous, a total lie, because Grandma would never settle for anything less than something in mahogany, with shiny brass handles and maroon satin lining. Still, she got her own way. Even the Colonel couldn’t make Grandma do something she didn’t want to.
The compromise was Mrs Skelton, who was supposed to be a live-in companion, but who also cooked most of the meals and kept a tidy house. This suited Grandma Vinegar who always walked about as if she were the Queen of England. Much better than just having a house cleaner come in once a week. She probably bragged about it to her friends.
Mrs Skelton was a tall woman with silver hair which she wore pulled back severely across her head. Her face was the colour of the calico at Miss Maudy’s Quilt Barn and was highlighted by cheekbones that reminded me of the Jolly Roger’s flag (which features a skull, if you don’t know). I’d caught her napping more than once in the afternoon sun in the drawing room or the library. Grandma had found Isabella and I giggling one day as Mrs Skelton sat in one of the library’s huge leather chairs, her head tipped back, and a snore rising from her like a motor.
“Mrs Skelton deserves a rest, don’t you think, girls?” Grandma had asked, her tone low and icy. “Perhaps you could help lessen her load?”
My sister and I spent the rest of the day cleaning the silverware until our hands were black from it and fingers sore from the rubbing.
“Hello, Mrs Skelton,” I repeated even louder.
She gave me a little wave, peering down through the gloom.
“Is that you, Erica?” she said.
“It’s Freya,” I told her, horrified that she would think I was my mother.
“Oh, yes.”
She told me to take my things to the Yellow Room, grumbling loudly as she polished at an errant mark on the staircase handrail.
“I don’t get paid enough for all this upset,” she said as I slid past her into my room.
Knowing my grandmother, she was probably right.
I dumped my things inside the bedroom door, then my phone buzzed – a missed phone call from Mum that had gone straight to message bank. I moved around the room for a better signal then returned Mum’s call, assuring her that I’d arrived safely
Similar Books
