Christmas at Hope Cottage: A Magical Feel-Good Romance Novel(10)

Emma frowned. ‘But it made sense to come here?’

‘Yes, when we have a perfectly good annexe. He’s paying me a bit of rent if that’s what you’re worried about; I told him not to, but he insisted, and it’s only temporary – just a few months really.’

‘What’s he doing in Whistling, though – it seems a strange place for him to end up, doesn’t it?’

Evie and her aunts shared a look. ‘Was a girl, wasn’t it? Though I’m not sure if she lived here or London really. He said something about getting on a train and finding the Dales, and himself…’

‘What happened with the girl?’

‘Didn’t work out, never really got the details.’

Evie turned back to her sisters. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you, Mr Grigson came round this morning, can you believe it?’

‘No,’ breathed Dot in shocked tones. Everyone knew that Whistling’s resident curmudgeon, Mr Grigson, who ran the local hardware store just outside the village, near to her Uncle Joe’s auto dealership, had always been a little wary about Hope Cottage, especially the rumours that always accompanied it, giving any Halloway he saw a wide berth on the street.

‘No heart is braver than the one in love,’ Evie said sagely.

‘He’s eighty now if he’s a day!’ said Aggie.

‘Still in love, his old high-school sweetheart, Moira, apparently. He’s hoping they can rekindle the flame now that she’s single again – well, if only she’ll forgive an old transgression from their youth. It’s why he came, feels like he might need a little help.’

‘Oh, he might do – old Moira Bates is a bit of a stickler,’ said Dot. ‘I handed a book in late at the library, when it was still open,’ she went on, and then pulled a face. ‘Could have sworn I’d killed her old cat the way she looked at me afterwards, mean thing too, that little monster – do you remember that time—’

‘When did Mr Grigson come?’ asked Emma.

‘While you were sleeping on the sofa, after Mary Galway left.’

Emma marvelled that so much had happened while she was sleeping, but she was still trying to process what Evie had said about Sandro. Besides, she wanted to steer the conversation away from their mad recipes as much as she could.

‘Back to Sandro, sorry, I’m confused – why would you offer him the annexe in the first place? Wasn’t there anywhere else he could go?’

Evie shrugged. ‘I suppose he could have.’

‘But he’s a stranger, why would you even offer?’

Emma worried that perhaps Evie was struggling financially. It had never been easy keeping Hope Cottage; aside from Aggie, who was a semi well-known artist, the sisters had always made the recipes and the cottage a strictly non-profit affair, so perhaps there was something Evie hadn’t been telling her. Why else would she open her home to a strange man?

‘He isn’t a stranger, you’ve chuffing lived in London too long – we’ve known him for a couple of years now,’ said Aggie.

Emma was shocked. ‘You have?’

‘He’s a good friend,’ agreed Evie.

‘He is?’

‘You’d know this if you’d been home more often,’ Aggie pointed out.

Emma ignored this. Suddenly a new thought occurred to her. She widened her eyes, snapped them back at Evie, a slow grin spreading on her face. ‘Are you and he…?’

Evie snorted. She wasn’t the only one. ‘Are you serious – he’s young enough to be my grandson!’

Emma shrugged. ‘So, like you said, I’ve been living in London, it’s not that uncommon, trust me.’

Evie shook her head. ‘He’s not my type, all right?’

Dot shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t know about that… I mean, he’s the type you’d make an exception for, am I right?’ she said, eyebrows waggling.

Aggie hooted with laughter. ‘Oh yes, I could have those boots under my bed,’ and they all dissolved into giggles, only laughing harder when they saw Emma’s slightly shocked expression. ‘Your generation,’ said Dot. ‘Such prudes.’

‘I am not a prude,’ said Emma, somewhat prudishly. ‘What does he do?’

‘He runs the Tapas Hut,’ said Evie pulling The Book towards her. She began flipping the page, then stopped at a recipe titled Wind-change Wine.

Evie tapped her chin, reading out the instructions, which included allowing several months of fermentation. ‘Not sure Mr Grigson has that sort of time on his hands at his age, but it’s his best chance really.’

‘A tapas hut?’ asked Emma, resolutely trying her best to ignore being sucked back into the family pastime of meddling in other people’s lives via food.

‘You haven’t heard of it?’ said Dot in surprise.

Emma shook her head.

‘Oh, it’s wonderful,’ she said, going misty-eyed. ‘The best tapas I’ve ever had. Authentic, well, I suppose it would be, he’s the real thing.’ She laughed. ‘But it’s something else, rather special. It’s down by the moors with these really gorgeous views. In summer when the heather is in bloom it’s such a treat, a purple carpet, next to these long wooden tables that overlook the heath. It’s even better at night with all the fairy lights, and the stars… And if you ply him with enough wine and encouragement, he plays his guitar. It’s… bliss,’ she sighed, obviously a little smitten.