The joiners had finished and erected the new signage above the main window, but she’d asked them to keep it covered for now. She’d also cleared the window displays and lowered the internal blinds so interested neighbours (read: busybodies and nosy parkers) couldn’t see the changes being made. She had enough doubts of her own without a chorus of tart observations and helpful ‘hints’ from Hester Bradshaw and her cohorts. Smiling enigmatically and murmuring, ‘Wait and see,’ seemed to be working to hold most people at bay, but she’d have to make a start on dressing the windows soon.
She still didn’t feel quite at home, although her back was looking forward to sleeping in the big brass-framed bed rather than cramped onto the single in her old room. She still needed to get in touch with her landlord in London and make arrangements for the rest of her things to be shipped, but that could wait. Giving up her bedsit still felt like a commitment too far. Finding somewhere within her budget had been a nightmare, and she’d need somewhere to go back to if things didn’t work out as she hoped with the emporium.
The colours for the walls had been picked; a white with the palest hint of lilac for the three larger walls, and a dusky mauve-grey for the solid end wall. Her budget wouldn’t stretch to new furniture, but Eliza was the queen of crafty things and after screaming ‘Project!’ with an alarming amount of enthusiasm during a Skype chat had promised to transform the dark wood chest of drawers, wardrobe and matching dresser. There was also a trip planned to the local household superstore to hunt for complementary accessories and accent pieces for the walls.
Beth knew when to fight and when to surrender to the superior knowledge of others, and when it came to anything creative, Eliza was the expert of the three of them. While she’d still been struggling to get to grips with threading a sewing machine properly, Eliza had been turning out her own clothes. Knowing her friend would be insulted if Beth tried to pay her, she’d set aside some vintage pieces from Eleanor’s wardrobe in the hopes Eliza would like them.
Humming to herself, she began to unwrap the figurines and position them on the cabinet shelves. The quirky little figures were perfect for the revamped design of the shop—a graceful hark back to a bygone age with a touch of artistry. She hadn’t decided whether she would sell them or not, and the locked cabinet would be both the safest place and provide a daily reminder of Eleanor. Beth had nosed around a bit on eBay, and had been stunned at some of the asking prices. She adjusted the angle of the little shepherdess and smiled to herself. If Henry the Eighth and his six wives had been part of Eleanor’s collection, she’d have been straight online trying to sell them! No, she’d wait and see if anyone showed an interest and then decide.
Closing the cabinet, she turned the key and tucked it away in the cash register then checked her watch. There would just be time for her to grab some lunch and double-check everything was ready for the weekend. Mick had arranged for cover for his daughter at the chip shop, so they would have two whole days to spend together. A quick glance around the shop assured her everything was in order and she headed back upstairs.
Without Annie’s near-constant supply of meals, Beth might not have got through the past few weeks, and although she was grateful, it was past time to stand on her own two feet. Heating up a can of soup wasn’t beyond her, and she’d started bookmarking videos on YouTube with basic recipes she was pretty sure she could follow.
If she was going to start taking care of herself properly, she needed to get into a regular exercise routine too. Especially if she was going to be on her feet all day in the shop. In London, she’d had to walk past the gym on her route from the tube to her front door, so it had been simple enough to call in and slog on the cross-trainer a few times a week. Perhaps she should start joining Sam on his morning run. Once he’d seen her sweaty and red-faced a few times, he’d soon lose his enthusiasm for kissing her.
‘It’s so good to see you!’ Eliza swept Beth into a warm, richly scented embrace then stepped back to look around the room. ‘Wow! Look at this place. It’s the same and yet, so different.’ Her words were the exact ones Beth needed to hear and a knot loosened in her tummy. Trust her sweet, sensitive friend to see exactly what she was trying to achieve. Eliza shoved up the floppy sleeves of her sweater—a pointless act as they fell straight back down again—and grinned. ‘And look at you! You’re looking so much better.’
Beth snagged an arm around Eliza’s waist and hugged her close again. ‘It’s all the fresh air. Honestly, I feel like I’ve been shedding layers of city grime.’ She stroked the end of the ponytail curling over her shoulder. ‘Everything was dull, you know? Not just my hair, or my skin, but my brain too.’
Her friend nodded. ‘I get it. The air up north doesn’t taste the same either.’ She breathed deeply. ‘I don’t know how I let Martin talk me into moving away in the first place.’ A troubled look clouded her brow. ‘And now he wants to drag me halfway around the world.’
‘What?’
Pushing her cloud of curly hair back from her forehead, Beth sighed. ‘Oh, nothing. I’m just being a drama queen. Martin’s been invited to apply for a fantastic promotion, but if he gets it, it would mean relocating to Abu Dhabi.’
Clad in an emerald green flowing wool dress, cinched at the waist with a bright red belt that matched her tights and the huge scarf wrapped around her neck, Eliza was a vision of jewel shades. The colours perfectly complimented her pale, freckled skin. Pale skin that turned bright red at the first hint of the sun. Her friend had spent every summer in Lavender Bay smothered in high-factor sun cream and sheltered under an umbrella. How on earth would she cope with the extreme climate of the Middle East? How on earth would Beth cope with her friend so far away? ‘Eliza, you’ll burn to a crisp! How will you cope with the heat?’
‘It won’t be so bad. The company has a lovely compound there. There’s a swimming pool surrounded by palms and cabanas. The apartments all have wall-to-wall aircon. Martin’s showed me the pictures.’ The wavering in her voice belied the reassurance in her words. ‘Oh, these are new!’
Still stunned at the prospect of them being separated by so many miles, Beth watched Eliza hurry across the room to examine the central display she’d created to exhibit local craftsmen and women. Eliza pressed her nose practically against the glass—making it clear the topic of Martin’s potential promotion was off limits.
For now, Beth conceded, silently.
Eleanor’s notebook had proven to be a goldmine of information. Sylvia, the creator of the jewellery Libby had been so taken with, had invited Beth to join a Facebook group which was part chatroom, part artisans’ guild. The post she’d put up offering display space on a sale-or-return basis had been inundated with responses. From hand-thrown pots to delicate watercolours, the local artists had provided her with a beautiful collection of unique pieces. A card stood beside each item providing details of the artist and a couple of lines about the inspiration behind it. ‘What do you think?’
Eliza turned to her, eyes glowing. ‘I think it’s wonderful. Who knew Lavender Bay was such a creative hotbed?’ It wasn’t difficult to sense the longing in those words.
‘You should think about making something for me to sell.’ An impulsive suggestion, but the words tasted right on her tongue.
‘Me?’ Eliza scoffed. ‘My silly little dabblings aren’t a patch on these.’
If Martin had been standing there at that precise moment, Beth feared she would have done him violence, so great was the wash of anger filling her veins. She could picture him saying those exact words, his face fixed in a patronising smile as he hugged his wife around the shoulders. Passive-aggressive wanker. He’d never taken Eliza’s interest in art seriously. Oh, it was fine for a hobby, but he couldn’t see the value in it so therefore assumed no one else would either. He’d been the one to steer her away from an arts foundation degree, arguing in that perfectly reasonable tone of his she’d be better off doing something more appealing to prospective employers.
With the grades he’d achieved at school, Martin could have attended the