A Change for the Better? (3 page)

“
Don
’
t worry Mary; I have my car here now I
’
d love to take you and Ken over to see Mo. You let me know when.
”

Katie was rewarded with a look of such deep thanks that it brought tears to her eyes. It was a long time since such a small thing as giving someone a lift had made Katie
feel
good about herself. In fact she reflected grimly, it was a long time since anything had made her feel good about herself. Katie decided to open the cream biscuits too.

The following morning as Katie awoke to the sound of feet clattering up, down and possibly sideways in the hall, she was less bothered about feeling good about herself and more concerned with the bad feelings she had about everyone else living in Tolpuddle House. Getting out of bed, wrapping her dressing gown around her, Katie flung open the door of the flat to reprimand
whoever
was responsible for the unnecessary noise, but as she looked, she was greeted by an empty hall and staircase and a loud thud as the last person pulled the un-cooperative door shut as they left. Mentally making a note to tackle everyone about it later and also to see about some thicker carpet than the thin effort currently on the stairs, Katie turned back into the flat and resigned herself to an early start despite the lie in she had promised
herself
the night before. Moving quickly into the kitchen, she set the kettle on the range and cut herself two thick slices of the whole meal bread she had baked the day before, spreading them with a generous layer of butter and honey. Making herself a strong mug of tea Katie
realised
she had used the last of the milk and the butter so therefore an expedition to the shop could be put off no longer.

So it was that an hour later Katie found herself heaving shut the front door and heading into the village surrounding Tolpuddle House. Katie had decided to tackle the local shop rather going off in search of the nearest supermarket some five or six miles away on the edge of Rawlinston.

Stepping out into the winter sunshine Katie reflected that cold but sunny January days were really quite beautiful and that Laxley Heath was a quaint picture postcard village. Katie mentally painted the roofs and trees with a light dusting of snow, lit the lanterns in front of the houses and composed as pretty a scene as pictured on so many Christmas cards over the years.

Tolpuddle House stood on the lower edge of the village at the side of the main road that cut the village in two. It was the largest house in the main part of the village, although Burton Manor and Langley Farm, both about a mile out from the village were larger.

Katie headed up the street towards the small parade of shops that had been there ever since she could remember. In addition to the local convenience store where Katie was headed, there was also the Laxley Heath Souvenir store and post office run by Ted and Tanya Taylor who, despite other post offices falling by the wayside in rapid succession,
had managed to keep enough business from the store and post office to keep going. Then there was Mary Allen
’
s Ladies
’
Fashions and Hairdressers, fashions from when, was less obvious but
Ms.
Allen had been fitting out and coiffeuring ladies of a certain age to their satisfaction for many years now. Lastly there was the tackle shop, which, as its name implied, sold tackle for fishing, riding and even golf. It wasn
’
t clear how the truculent owner Mr. Alan Kenworthy made his money but in fact he ran a successful mail order and Internet business from the shop to enthusiasts around the country which provided a very good income. Alan Kenworthy could be an awkward bugger but he was always open to an opportunity and as a result had a finger in many pies most of which, if not all, were successful to varying degrees. Of course as required in any picture postcard village there were the usual three or four antique shops alongside the village green. The green sat back from the road with a large stream tributary to the River Rawlin with ducks parading up and down and a small bridge ideal for playing
“
pooh sticks
” under
. The Rose & Crown Pub framed the second side of the green. Laxley Heath had become a very popular stop for tourists of all shapes and
sizes, they
walk down the quaint main street of the village, sit and relax by the green and wander in and out of the antique shops before moving on to Burton Manor or Laxley Castle a few miles further up the road. But before Katie reached this dazzling array of retail
opportunities she noticed a new addition to Laxley Heath
’
s commercial sector. One of the small terrace houses edging the main road had turned the front entrance into a very small but exquisitely set out display area for a selection of beautiful hand painted and probably hand-made pottery. Katie took a step up into the front entrance to take a closer look at the wares.

Once inside the tiny display area Katie picked up a cup decorated with brightly coloured bold strokes diagonally across it
s
bowl drawing the eye time and again to the rim. It wasn
’
t one of those delicate teacups favoured by mythical great aunts, but a cup for a frothing latte or a piping hot, strong tea. Katie could picture herself very clearly curled up on the sofa; fire burning, a good book in hand and a steaming hot drink in this beautiful cup. Katie rubbed her hands around the cup, very rarely could such an ordinary object inspire such a vivid daydream that Katie immediately wanted to buy it and run home to use it. Just as she was looking for a price she heard a noise behind her and turning round came face to face with a smiling, slightly wild-looking woman.

“
It
’
s a beautiful cup but it needs to be used doesn’t it?
”
the lady said

“
Oh absolutely
”
Katie replied
“
How much is it?
”

“
Never mind that - come on through and let’s give it a test drive. I was just about to make a drink for myself. I
’
m Cliona by the way.
”
She held her hand out as she spoke.

Katie shook the proffered hand
“
Katie Collins; I
’
m looking after Tolpuddle House whilst my grandmother
’
s in hospital.
”

“
Ah yes, I thought you must be Mo
’
s grand-daughter, you’re just how she described you. And the jungle drums, Laxley style, said you
were coming
to stay. How is she doing?
”
They chatted about Mo
’
s progress as Cliona led the way through the house. Katie was impressed by the artistic order of the house; although there were many throws, beads and books about, the house still looked ordered and clean. Katie had an impression that most artistic types were too into their
‘
muse
’
to deal with such mundane tasks as dusting, vacuuming and polishing, but it seemed Cliona was able to set her mind to both the creative and practical aspects of life.

After passing through the relaxed and soothing living area they crossed the dining room, complete with an old, slightly marked but lovingly polished mahogany table and chairs that had clearly seen many dinners
and, if they could speak, would have many stories to tell, and passed into the kitchen. Here Katie was to receive her second surprise. She had been expecting a slightly frayed but warm and welcoming kitchen with bold colours, big old pots and solid wood furniture, the sort of archetypal farmhouse kitchen. Instead she walked into a state of the art, modern 21st century kitchen, straight out of a Kensington catalogue. Beech wood units, gleaming stainless steel tops and glass intersections. The colours were muted but warm. It was a staggeringly lovely (and expensive!) room but Katie found it hard to match it with the wild and free spirited Cliona in front of her, possibly sensing her confusion Cliona offered Katie a seat and continued

“
The kitchen is my partner Declan
’
s choice, he
’
s the chef of the house and as he cooks for me and all the little get-togethers I organise, the least I could do was let him have the kitchen he wanted. It
’
s a little too clinical for me
”
she confided with a wink. Katie smiled back and took the proffered seat, thinking how the style was so like her small kitchen in the penthouse flat she had just had to leave.

“
So what will it be?
”
Cliona
’
s question cut into Katie
’
s thoughts.

“
Sorry, what will what be?
”

“
Your drink - I have coffee, decaf or caff, latte, cappuccino, mocha or tea, breakfast, earl grey. Hot chocolate, er hot water if you prefer.
”

“
I
’
m sorry
”
Katie laughed
“
I didn
’
t see the
‘
cafe
’
sign out front. I
’
d love a latte - decaf please.
”

Katie observed her new acquaintance as she poured a shot of espresso coffee into the cup they had brought through and added the foaming hot milk. It was easy to feel at ease with Cliona, she had such a warm, but not intrusive personality with a huge dollop of mischief thrown in. She was the sort of person who could make even the dullest gathering a giggle - probably when you were least supposed to. As they sat down to drink the coffee and eat the custard creams Cliona had produced from another cupboard Katie felt more at ease and calm than she had for many weeks. Cliona eyed her curiously,

“
So what
’
s the story then Katie, what
’
s really bringing you to Laxley Heath?
”

Katie smiled
“
Well, I really am looking after Tolpuddle House as Mo
’
s in hospital, but you
’
re right I needed somewhere to be and something to be for a while.
”

Cliona raised a quizzical eyebrow, prompting Katie to continue, not that she needed much prompting Katie needed to tell someone about what had happened.

Katie had wanted a job in London ever since she could remember, she was dazzled by the glamour of the idea, working for important people, living in penthouse apartments, earning good money and being secure for the rest of her life. Her chosen plan was to be an indispensable assistant to these important people initially and then become important in her own right later. It sounded ridiculous when you said it out loud but it was important to have a plan and know where you were going and why. Katie
’
s plan was to be financially secure and held in high esteem by all those around her. She had gained her degree in English at Bristol University and had then done a crammer course in secretarial skills at a private college, then she had applied for every PA position at a city firm she could find. Four years later having gained valuable experience at two solicitors firms in the centre of London, when a top PA position came up at Dawson, Philips & Chamberlain Barristers, considered to be among the top three firms in London and who had many glamorous, famous and extremely rich clients on their books, Katie had put everything into her interview and secured the job
as personal assistant to Marcus Chamberlain. Marcus, at 44, was a brilliant lawyer but he was also devastatingly handsome in the tall, dark tradition, a sharp thinker, extremely charming with a wicked sense of humour that made him approachable and down to earth despite all his
‘
god-like
’
qualities. He also looked after his staff in many thoughtful ways, small presents to say thanks for a job well done, always treating successes as a team effort or remembering personal details that were important to them. It took Katie all of about three months to fall in love with her new job, her new lifestyle and her new boss! It took a further six months for Marcus to reciprocate. Katie had shut out the fact that Marcus was married with two children and had planned a precise campaign to win him over which she executed to perfection. This involved being the ultimate PA, loyal, unobtrusive, one step ahead of all his needs, always on hand, never complaining and with a ready smile for him. To this she added personal touches. His favourite biscuit with coffee, a drink ready mixed at the end of a tough day in court, an ear available to listen to all his woes but never imposing any of her own and most importantly she made him laugh. Katie always tried to leave Marcus with a smile on his face, that way she figured he would associate her with good times.