Emma gathered her thoughts, then leaned forward on her elbows. “Derek and I moved to Finch five years ago. Although we knew of Dimity through a mutual acquaintance, we had met her only in passing. It didn’t take us long to learn more about her, though. According to the baker, she had been born and raised in the cottage. According to the vicar, she continued to live there after her parents had died. And according to the greengrocer, she joined up the day war was declared, and served in London until the Armistice.
“That was when Dimity came into her inheritance. It was left to her—according to everyone—by a distant relative, and the money enabled her to return to London, purchase her town house, and become involved in charity work. After that, she rarely returned to the cottage. It was a simple country cottage then: two up, two down, no electricity, and rudimentary plumbing. It must have seemed fairly primitive compared to her digs in London.
“At any rate, I was clipping the azaleas one day when Dimity’s Bentley pulled into our drive. Derek had done some restoration work on the church in Finch, so Dimity knew of his skill as a builder, and she’d come to ask him to do some work on the cottage. Derek thought she meant a simple renovation and he jumped at the chance.” Emma laughed. “As you can tell, he landed up to his chin.
“Dimity’s ‘simple renovation’ lasted for two years. Derek had to turn down scores of other jobs, and I cut way back on my consulting work in order to do what I love best. Dimity gave me a free hand with everything except the front garden.”
So that it would match the cottage in the story, I mused silently, offering Emma another cookie and taking one for myself.
“But the rest was mine,” Emma continued, “and it was heaven. Derek was as happy as I was. He loved the challenge Dimity threw at him: rebuild the cottage, expand it, update it, but keep its soul intact. It was the biggest project he’d ever undertaken and it seemed to get bigger as he went along. Dimity would stop by once a month, each time with another suggestion to make. Derek began referring to the cottage as our own private Winchester House.
“But during that whole time, we never knew why Dimity was doing it. We thought at first she might move in permanently, but she just shook her head when we mentioned it. We doubted that she’d ever sell it, so what was the point? There it stood, like… like Sleeping Beauty, waiting for her handsome…Lori? Are you okay?”
I finished choking on my cookie and took a swallow of tea. “Yes, of course. Please, go on.”
“Just before Dimity died, we ran into all sorts of problems with the project. Building materials weren’t delivered on time, the ones that arrived were substandard, and some of the workmen decided to disappear when the weather turned ugly. It drove Derek mad. Dimity was quite ill by then and he had his heart set on finishing the work before she died. Dimity called it the ultimate deadline.” Emma began to smile, then stopped and blushed self-consciously. “I’m sorry. That must seem heartless. But if you’d known Dimity…”
“I can imagine,” I said. “It’s a good line. I’ll bet she thought it was funny.”
“She had a wonderful sense of humor. And she never worried about whether the cottage would be finished in time or not. She arranged it so that Bill’s father would oversee the financing of the renovation after her death and she told Derek to do the best possible job and not to worry—if she didn’t see it then, she’d see it… later.”
“Little did you know….” I murmured.
Emma nodded. “Her attitude helped Derek cope with the fact that she died before the renovation was complete. But that’s not all that helped.” Emma rested her chin on her hand, a puzzled expression on her face. “We didn’t notice it at first, but gradually everything about the project began falling into place. Derek said he didn’t think he could hit his thumb with a hammer if he tried. And the garden!” Her voice was filled with wonder. “I’d drop a seed on the ground and I could almost watch it take root. But, as I said, we didn’t notice. We just went along from day to day, feeling very proud of our progress.
“Which may explain why the accident happened. Or rather—didn’t happen. Perhaps we had become overconfident and careless. Whatever the reason, Derek dropped his welding torch in a pile of paint-soaked rags. They should have gone up in smoke and taken the cottage with them, and Derek, too.” She tightened her hold on her teacup. “But nothing happened! Nothing. Derek ran out into the garden to find me and I went back inside with him to see. There wasn’t so much as a scorch mark anywhere.