‘No.’ I could feel myself blushing, as I always did when someone complimented me.
‘You really are awfully accomplished, you know. Where did you learn sign language?’
‘My nanny taught me the basics of it in French when I was younger. But mostly my sister and I made up our own signs. It was because I didn’t like to speak much.’
‘And there’s another of your gifts. If one has nothing useful to say, one shouldn’t say it at all. That’s why I do so enjoy speaking to Rory, he’s so very observant about the world. And his speech is improving so quickly now.’
‘Marguerite said you’ve been wonderful with him.’
It was Orlando’s turn to blush. ‘That’s sweet of her. I’m very fond of my nephew. Bright as a button and doing well at school, although sadly, lacking a father figure to guide him. Not that I would ever consider myself worthy enough to take on that role, but I do my best.’
I was desperate to ask who Rory’s father was, and also where he was, but I didn’t want to pry.
‘Now, I must get on, although I’m sure there was something I wanted to tell you. Never mind, it will come to me.’
I could see Orlando’s attention – held for far longer on one train of thought than usual – had moved on. So I lit the fire, and brewed the coffee that no one would drink, then took the feather duster to the bookshelves, remembering the Sewer Rat’s comments about the price of the rates for the shop. And how much money they would get if they sold the building. I couldn’t even contemplate it. Whenever Orlando was out, his bookshop was like a nest without its roosting bird; it was his natural habitat and the two were inextricably linked.
The day was cold and wet and I knew none of the regulars would be in, so I took Orlando off a bookshelf and sat down by the fire to reread it. Unusually, my mind couldn’t focus on the words. It kept drifting back to yesterday, trying to unravel the family dynamics, and even more vividly, the image of High Weald and its calm beauty kept appearing in my mind’s eye.
There was no word from the Sewer Rat, just as I had expected. And slowly, I resigned myself to not seeing High Weald again, concentrating my energy instead on how I might one day manage to acquire my own similar home.
As the days grew shorter and a thick frost greeted me every morning on the way to work, our regulars appeared even more rarely. So, with my newfound spur, one day when there was nothing else to do, I sat down in front of the fire and made notes on the novel I wanted to write. I allowed Pa Salt’s encouraging words to combat my doubts about my ability and was so engrossed in ideas for it that I didn’t hear Orlando coming down the stairs. It was only when he cleared his throat loudly that I looked up and saw him standing above me.
‘Sorry, sorry . . .’ I closed the notebook with a snap.
‘No matter. Miss Star, I’ve come to ask if you are otherwise engaged on this forthcoming weekend?’
I suppressed a grin at the formal Orlando-speak. ‘No. I’m not doing anything.’
‘Well . . . may I put something to you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Marguerite has been offered a big commission in France. She must fly there for a couple of days to discuss terms, and to “case the joint”, as some would say.’
‘Yes, she mentioned it to me.’
‘She has asked me if we would both go to High Weald for the weekend to take care of Rory while she is gone. She said she was happy to pay you . . .’
‘I don’t need paying,’ I countered, mildly insulted that she would see me as ‘staff’.
‘No, of course not, and forgive me, for I should have said her first thought was that Rory liked you and perhaps you could provide the maternal touch that eludes me while Marguerite is gone.’
‘I’d be happy to,’ I replied, my spirits leaping at the thought of returning to High Weald.
‘Would you really? Goodness, now that does make me happy. I’ve never had to care for a child alone. I wouldn’t know where to begin with bath times, et cetera. May I tell Marguerite yes?’
‘You may.’
‘Then that’s settled. We will leave tomorrow evening on the six o’clock train. I shall book us into first class and reserve our seats. Commuting, especially on a Friday, is such a nightmare these days. Now, I am late to collect our foil tin treats. But once I am back we shall eat, and then spend the rest of the afternoon brushing up your signing skills.’
Once the door had shut behind him, I stood in the middle of the shop and hugged myself with pleasure. This was better than I could ever have envisaged. An entire weekend – two nights – in my dream surroundings.
‘Thank you,’ I said to the ceiling of the bookshop. ‘Thank you.’
The train to Ashford was packed and there were even people standing in our first-class carriage. Thankfully, Orlando had refrained from bringing his picnic hamper, swapping it for a battered leather suitcase and a canvas bag full of supplies, from which he produced a half-bottle of champagne and two flutes.
‘I always celebrate the end of the week like this. To your health, Miss Star,’ he toasted as the train pulled out of Charing Cross.
Once Orlando had drunk his glass of champagne, he crossed his hands over his chest and fell asleep. My mobile pinged suddenly and I saw it was a text. I presumed it was CeCe, who had been disgruntled when I said I was going down to Kent again for the weekend with my employer.
But the text was from an unknown number.
Hear you are coming down to High Weald with my brother. Hope we can arrange a time to meet and discuss Flora MacNichol. O.
I pondered the initial at the end, fascinated that both brothers’ names began with the same letter.
Just over an hour later, we emerged onto the station forecourt. Orlando headed towards a taxi and we drove along the pitch-black country lanes towards High Weald.
‘Lando! Staah!’ Rory was waiting to greet us.
With his nephew hanging like a chimpanzee from his neck, Orlando paid the driver. I turned to see a figure on the doorstep, already jangling his car keys.
‘I’ll be off then,’ Mouse said as Orlando and I trundled towards him with our overnight cases. ‘I fed him what Marguerite had left, but I’m afraid he didn’t eat much. I’m sure he’s glad you’re both here. Anything you need, you know where I am,’ he said to Orlando. To me he said, ‘You have my number, contact me when it’s convenient. If it ever is.’ With a curt nod, he walked to his car, climbed in and drove off.
‘Goodness, I feel that we are parents,’ whispered Orlando to me as he lugged both his suitcase and Rory inside and I brought up the rear with the supplies and my holdall.
‘Do you like pancakes?’ I tried to sign. Orlando chuckled as Rory looked at me uncomprehendingly. So I finger-spelt the letters carefully.