Page 37 of A Change of Location
“My connection at Birmingham was so tight I almost missed my train to Bristol. Temple Meads was madness.”
“Did you get lunch?”
“Gran sent me off with egg and cress sandwiches and homemade flapjack,” she answered. “I could do with a coffee, though. I didn’t finish the swill I got from the refreshments trolley.”
“There’s a café down the street. The Dancing Dragon.”
“A civilized stroll sounds wonderful. When not sitting in a cramped seat, I was racing from platform to platform.”
He pocketed his key fob and wandered towards the pay-and-display kiosk.
Pointing at the sign hanging above the pavement, Hannah said, “Somerset’s symbolic creature. The one engraved on your ring. A Latimer heirloom?”
“Sort of.” He fingered the gold band. “Though not an antique. A couple of decades ago, the tenants and estate workers took up a collection and commissioned it as a Christmas gift for Uncle Rufus. I decided to wear it as a tribute to him. And the people of this district.”
Lunchtime diners had deserted the coffee shop, and the teatime rush hadn’t begun.
Turning her face to the window, Hannah said, “Now that I’m a charity case myself, I should visit the shop across the street.”
Misfortune had dimmed her spark. “Agnes, my tenant at River Cottage, runs the place. Looking for anything in particular?”
“Whatever is cheap enough and not too casual. I’m sick of the work outfits I’ve been dragging around everywhere I go. But as your lordship’s guest, I need something more respectable than jogging clothes.”
“You’re a runner?”
“No time to be, until I went to Wales.”
“The Pub Dashers will be out in a fortnight, training for our monthly point-to-point. Which for us is a pub-to-pub. You should join us.”
She leaned against the chair. “I won’t be here that long. I came for the Flower Fete. When is it?”
“At the weekend. But you’re staying on afterwards.”
She sipped her coffee before replying. “I’ve got to face up to reality. When I was with Gran, I could pretend nothing’s wrong. This morning, the moment I sat down on the first train of the day, all the heavy facts of my situation came bearing down on me. I need to get back to Boston. Soon.”
Jaz, the server, came by to refill their mugs. “Fresh brewed.”
Hannah shook her head.
“No more for me,” he said.
“We don’t see you often enough,” she complained. Her spiky platinum hair and kohl-daubed eyes contrasted with her genteel, lace-curtained establishment. “Tell Ron I bought the espresso maker I mentioned to him. My old one, the Brasilia Pronto, is his to borrow if he still wants it.”
“I can’t think why he would,” said Martin, puzzled. “The one at Stanwell is in fair working order, far as I know.”
“Flower Fete,” Jaz told him. “He means to offer espresso in the same marquee where the teas and coffees are served.”
“A break with tradition? Good luck to him, getting past those tea ladies—they’re a fierce lot. Why’d you replace your machine?”
“The new one does over three hundred cups per day, twice the number as the Pronto. After Ron uses it, if he does, it goes to a re-seller.”
“I’ll let him know it’s available.” He handed over a ten-pound note. “This covers everything. Add whatever’s leftover to your Pet Rescue support collection.” He murmured to Hannah, “Ariel would insist.”
The clouds that had delivered morning showers were parting, but damp lingered in the air. He accompanied Hannah to the charity shop and studied a shelf of secondhand books while she browsed. When she withdrew to the changing cubicle, he had no difficulty culling gossip from Agnes.
“How’d you like to adopt a flock of peafowl?” She inquired.
“I can’t think of anything I’d like less.”
