Matt pushed back his chair, picked up his plate and mug and carried them over to the sink where he tossed them into the soapy water and left them. Rosie suppressed an eyeroll and, out of habit, she rose from the table, collect everyone’s plates and mugs together, rinsed and then dried them with a flower-sprigged tea towel and returned each one to its allotted space on the Welsh dresser. Matt could bring chaos to an empty room if left to his own devices, but she was self-aware enough to realise that her perception could simply be the result of her own addiction to order and extreme cleanliness, a trait that had reared its ugly head more often since Harry’s reappearance on the scene.
Despite Harry’s disloyalty, she had adored working in their little florist’s shop in Pimlico, experimenting with ever-increasing creativity in the sphere of bridal floristry. On the other hand, she also enjoyed her gastronomic adventures in the Windmill Café and relished being given a free-rein to showcase the very best that British confectionary had to offer. She loved baking up a storm with Mia at her side, not to mention the possible resumption of what she had thought was a long-forgotten dream – to return to college so she could follow in her father’s footsteps and one day, maybe, qualify as a solicitor. She wondered briefly what her sister Georgina would say when she told her she was considering studying A’ level law at the local High School where Mia’s mother was a food technology teacher.
So, if she accepted Harry’s business proposition, it would mean relocating back to London and the chance of resuming her education would be, if not extinguished, put on the back burner. The stress of her prevarication had reawakened her cleanliness demons from their former slumber, so the sooner she made her decision, the better. However, now was not the time for a spot of soul-searching but for gathering facts. Her brain whirred into action and questions bounced around thick and fast.
“What possible reason could anyone have for wanting to harm Theo?”
“I have no idea but we should make a start on finding out.”
“Who are you going to interview first? Penny?” asked Mia, enthusiasm lighting up her face.
“No, I think we should give her some space to come to terms with what’s happened, don’t you?”
“Well, if Sam knows Theo the best, then maybe we should start with him,” suggested Rosie.
“I agree. Grace, do you mind filling us in on how Josh knows Sam and Zara?”
“Sure. Josh has known Sam since school and they went to the same university; different degree courses, but they shared a flat together. When Josh decided to set up Extreme Cycling Excursions, Sam helped him out with some marketing and promo via the golf club where he works as a pro. Sam met Zara in his last year at uni. They have twin boys, Barnie and Oscar who are having the time of their lives with Zara’s parents on their farm in the Lake District. They’re a lovely couple. I’m sure Sam will be able to fill you in with anything you need to know about Theo. Come to think of it, perhaps you should ask Zara instead – I get the feeling she doesn’t particularly like the guy very much.”
“Why?” asked Matt.
Grace’s eyes widened as she realised what she had just said. “Oh, no, no, I didn’t mean that she—”
“Come on, Rosie. Let’s get over to the café and make a start on our sleuthing. I can’t wait to hear your individual take on what happened in the woods. I have to admit, I’ve missed listening to your outlandish theories. Though from what I’ve heard so far, maybe this time you’ll be right!”
Every time Rosie drove through the gates guarding the entrance to the Windmill Café, she experienced a pleasant twinge of homecoming. Christmas had truly arrived, mainly courtesy of Mia, with an exuberant medley of festive decorations. Hand-crafted wreaths hung proudly on the front of every lodge door and plain white fairy-lights twinkled around the windows and on the peppermint sails of the windmill. She had even been persuaded to drape necklaces of holly-sprigged bunting that Mia and her mother had created around the wooden veranda. However, she’d put her foot down at the suggestion they invest in a menagerie of inflatable snowmen to welcome the competitors to the Christmas Carousel contest.
Dusk was in the process of exhaling its last gasp, sending ribbons of indigo and amber across the sky along with a rather menacing cloud of chirping skylarks, their destination controlled by a higher force. An icy dampness hung in the air, and whilst the earlier rain had long-since ceased, clouds hung like bulbous balloons evidencing only a temporary reprieve. Maybe Grace and Mia would get their wish for a winter wonderland at the weekend, after all.
To her right, in the field at the rear of the windmill, crouched the borrowed marquee, its fabric sides flapping in the breeze like a pair of bellows. Her heart gave a sharp nip of gratitude when she saw one of the Ultimate Adventures SUVs parked in front of the entrance and Freddie and Josh helping to unload a consignment of Christmas trees whilst Archie attached each trunk to a huge circular wooden turntable, just like an over-sized Lazy Susan, inside the tent. Once again, Rosie was reminded what being part of a tightly knit community was all about. Every good deed was returned two-fold, and she vowed never to forget that.
Matt’s SUV crunched to a halt in the gravelled car park and Rosie drew up alongside him, dragging on the handbrake of her Mini Cooper and scampering in his wake as he made his way to the French doors leading into the café. From the look of determination on his face, he had clearly downloaded his Amateur Detective app already.
She unlocked the doors and stepped inside, flicking on the light and taking a moment to inhale a deep, replenishing lungful of air that contained her favourite aroma – a symphony of disinfectant, freshly baked scones and a light top-note of bleach.
Heaven!
The nervousness that had been brewing about being alone with Matt for the first time since he’d witnessed Harry go down on one knee and propose to her seeped away. She set the kettle to boil, grabbed a selection of the Windmill Café’s signature mugs and a plate of the mince pies she had baked the previous day, and turned to face him.
“Matt, I—”
“Rosie, I—”
“Hi? Is it okay to come in? I could murder one of your gingerbread lattes, Rosie. Sam’s gone over to the marquee to see if the guys need any help with organising the Christmas trees and, well, I know it sounds stupid but I didn’t want to stay in the lodge by myself. Abbi’s not in her little shepherd’s hut, and Penny isn’t back from the hospital yet so when I saw the lights go on in here I thought I pop in for a chat. I hope I’m not interrupting anything? Oh, are these home-made mince pies?”
“Help yourself, Zara,” said Rosie, turning on the coffee machine and catching the smirk on Matt’s lips. The fates seem to be enjoying sending distractions their way – maybe it was too early to have the necessary heart-to-heart. “Why don’t you and Matt grab a seat on the sofa over there and I’ll bring the coffee across when it’s ready?”
“Thanks, Rosie. You’re a lifesaver.”
Zara wriggled out of her bright orange padded jacket and tossed her matching satchel, which Rosie recognised as one of Abbi’s designs, onto the overstuffed white settee next to the French doors which in summer months were concertinaed back so that visitors could enjoy a meal on the veranda.
Rosie took the opportunity to survey Josh’s best man’s wife from her vantage point behind the kitchen counter. Her dark brown curls looked slightly more dishevelled than usual and there were smudges of exhaustion beneath her eyes. Rosie supposed that tiredness went with territory of being a mum to twin boys! Her makeup had been perfectly applied though – a triple