emerge.’
‘If not the one Ivy burned,’ Phoebe murmured. She sat back and slapped her palms on her thighs. ‘Well, this has been first rate entertainment, but I can’t do any more brainwork on an empty stomach. We need sustenance, Ann.’
‘Mum, you’ve eaten half a packet of chocolate digestives!’
‘No, that was mostly Connor.’
‘Guilty as charged,’ he said, raising his hands in submission. ‘I missed lunch, so I’m afraid I put away quite a few.’
‘Time for something more substantial then. Will you stay for supper, Connor? I doubt Phoebe will let you go until she’s squeezed the last drop of information out of you, so you might as well give in gracefully. It’s chicken and leek pie.’
‘If it doesn’t mean short rations for the ladies, I’d love to join you.’
‘Good!’ said Phoebe, clearly delighted. ‘Now while Ann is busy in the kitchen, you can make yourself useful with the drinks tray. Help yourself. Mine’s a large gin.’
‘Is that with tonic?’ Connor asked getting to his feet.
‘Just wave the bottle in the general vicinity of my glass.’
‘One large gin coming up, madam.’
As he poured her drink, Connor exchanged a conspiratorial look with me. He seemed to be enjoying himself and, as I stood in the doorway, listening to the banter, it occurred to me, he would be good with old ladies. He’d been raised by one and perhaps still missed her.
I went to the kitchen to fetch some ice. Taking a lemon from the fruit bowl, I began to slice it. It was touching to see Phoebe so engaged, enjoying her second favourite pursuit: flirting with young men. She was enjoying herself, using her brain, laughing, chatting, being useful to someone. She was in her element and pain was temporarily far from her mind.
Connor’s untidy head appeared round the door. ‘Phoebe’s calling for ice and a slice. Can I help?’
I handed him a tumbler full of ice cubes and a dish of lemon slices. As he took them, I found myself unable to say any more than a heartfelt ‘Thank you’, but I wasn’t thanking him for collecting the ice.
~
A week later I was in the kitchen preparing lunch when the phone rang. I always left it with Phoebe in case she felt like calling someone for a chat – something she declined to do, even though I was sure she would have loved someone to ring her . She’d put Connor’s number on the fridge, “in case anything turns up” and I sensed she’d been brooding about his three-pipe problem.
To judge from the tone of her voice, the call was business rather than pleasure. I wondered if it was another buyer wanting to view the house. I quickly rinsed my hands in case Phoebe handed me the call, but she finished speaking and after a moment, the door opened. She limped into the kitchen with an odd look on her face, something between a grimace and a grin.
‘Guess what? We have an offer for Garden Lodge.’
‘You’re joking! Are they buying blind? No one’s viewed it.’
‘Connor Grenville has. And he’s made an offer.’
‘But—’ I stared at her, astonished. ‘But he can’t possibly afford— and he said he wasn’t a serious buyer!’
‘Well, he’s made a serious offer. Four hundred and fifty.’
‘That’s not a serious offer, it’s an insult!’
‘Hardly, Ann. No one else has been to view in months. The price is obviously much too high.’
‘It’s the winter. The agent said there would be little interest until the spring.’
‘She was just covering herself. People move all year round, don’t they? Disasters happen. Death. Divorce. I suspect four hundred and fifty is much nearer the mark.’
‘You’re not going to accept?’
Phoebe paused before replying, then, looking very guilty, said, ‘I have accepted.’
‘Mum, that’s not how it’s done! You say you’ll think about it and then you haggle. That won’t be his best offer.’
‘Oh, I think it probably is. He didn’t strike me as the kind of man who plays games. I
‘If not the one Ivy burned,’ Phoebe murmured. She sat back and slapped her palms on her thighs. ‘Well, this has been first rate entertainment, but I can’t do any more brainwork on an empty stomach. We need sustenance, Ann.’
‘Mum, you’ve eaten half a packet of chocolate digestives!’
‘No, that was mostly Connor.’
‘Guilty as charged,’ he said, raising his hands in submission. ‘I missed lunch, so I’m afraid I put away quite a few.’
‘Time for something more substantial then. Will you stay for supper, Connor? I doubt Phoebe will let you go until she’s squeezed the last drop of information out of you, so you might as well give in gracefully. It’s chicken and leek pie.’
‘If it doesn’t mean short rations for the ladies, I’d love to join you.’
‘Good!’ said Phoebe, clearly delighted. ‘Now while Ann is busy in the kitchen, you can make yourself useful with the drinks tray. Help yourself. Mine’s a large gin.’
‘Is that with tonic?’ Connor asked getting to his feet.
‘Just wave the bottle in the general vicinity of my glass.’
‘One large gin coming up, madam.’
As he poured her drink, Connor exchanged a conspiratorial look with me. He seemed to be enjoying himself and, as I stood in the doorway, listening to the banter, it occurred to me, he would be good with old ladies. He’d been raised by one and perhaps still missed her.
I went to the kitchen to fetch some ice. Taking a lemon from the fruit bowl, I began to slice it. It was touching to see Phoebe so engaged, enjoying her second favourite pursuit: flirting with young men. She was enjoying herself, using her brain, laughing, chatting, being useful to someone. She was in her element and pain was temporarily far from her mind.
Connor’s untidy head appeared round the door. ‘Phoebe’s calling for ice and a slice. Can I help?’
I handed him a tumbler full of ice cubes and a dish of lemon slices. As he took them, I found myself unable to say any more than a heartfelt ‘Thank you’, but I wasn’t thanking him for collecting the ice.
~
A week later I was in the kitchen preparing lunch when the phone rang. I always left it with Phoebe in case she felt like calling someone for a chat – something she declined to do, even though I was sure she would have loved someone to ring her . She’d put Connor’s number on the fridge, “in case anything turns up” and I sensed she’d been brooding about his three-pipe problem.
To judge from the tone of her voice, the call was business rather than pleasure. I wondered if it was another buyer wanting to view the house. I quickly rinsed my hands in case Phoebe handed me the call, but she finished speaking and after a moment, the door opened. She limped into the kitchen with an odd look on her face, something between a grimace and a grin.
‘Guess what? We have an offer for Garden Lodge.’
‘You’re joking! Are they buying blind? No one’s viewed it.’
‘Connor Grenville has. And he’s made an offer.’
‘But—’ I stared at her, astonished. ‘But he can’t possibly afford— and he said he wasn’t a serious buyer!’
‘Well, he’s made a serious offer. Four hundred and fifty.’
‘That’s not a serious offer, it’s an insult!’
‘Hardly, Ann. No one else has been to view in months. The price is obviously much too high.’
‘It’s the winter. The agent said there would be little interest until the spring.’
‘She was just covering herself. People move all year round, don’t they? Disasters happen. Death. Divorce. I suspect four hundred and fifty is much nearer the mark.’
‘You’re not going to accept?’
Phoebe paused before replying, then, looking very guilty, said, ‘I have accepted.’
‘Mum, that’s not how it’s done! You say you’ll think about it and then you haggle. That won’t be his best offer.’
‘Oh, I think it probably is. He didn’t strike me as the kind of man who plays games. I
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