A New Beginning (10 page)

Chapter Seventeen

It didn’t get any easier when she was back in her own house in Newcastle. She wondered if she had been wise to give up her old job. The office would have provided her with distractions, if nothing else. She probably wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on anything very much, though. The problems she faced now would not have gone away.

She shivered and wandered around the house. It was so cold and empty here. So lonely. Already she felt it had been a mistake to come back. She had nothing to do here. It was a pity Mr. Edgar hadn’t sold it yet. And he hadn’t. Early days yet, he had told her when she phoned. Of course it was. Far too soon. Still, she would have preferred it if he had sold it. But then what would she have done? Stayed in a Bed-and-Breakfast, probably. Stayed with Joyce. Anything. She just hated being here on her own.

She did her sums again, and then did them once more. Nothing changed. To go ahead now would require her to invest all the money she was expecting from her mother’s house, and before that became available she would need to organise a bridging loan, if she could. It could be done. It was possible. Matthew would help her. But did she want to do it? She was no longer so sure.

She rang Joyce.

‘Meet you for lunch?’ Joyce said. ‘Today? Now? At such short notice? Kirsty! Of course I will.’

Kirsty put the phone down and smiled with relief. She felt better already.

***

‘What’s wrong?’ Joyce asked breathlessly as she sat down. ‘Why are you here? Why are you not there? What’s...’ She stopped and took pity on Kirsty. ‘How are you?’

Kirsty smiled. ‘Ready for lunch.’

Joyce stared a moment longer, and then nodded. ‘Me, too.’

They had met in an Italian restaurant in the city centre. Cheap and cheerful. Busy. Vibrant, even. Music coming out of the walls. Waiters singing while they worked. People climbing over each other to reach empty chairs.

‘I’ve always liked it here here,’ Joyce murmured, wincing as a pile of crockery hit the floor somewhere. ‘It’s so peaceful.’

Kirsty laughed. ‘It’s certainly different to Fells Inn.’

‘Ladies?’ a handsome young waiter called, arriving at their table in a hurry.

He might have been from Naples, Kirsty thought, judging from his appearance, but more likely he was from Jarrow or Jesmond, Low Fell or South Shields.

‘The special’s good,’ he advised.

‘That’s a terrible accent,’ Joyce told him. ‘What part of Italy are you from?’

He grinned. ‘My granddad came from Verona. Me? I’m from Blaydon. You want the special?’

‘No way!’ Joyce said. ‘Do you do beans on toast?’

The waiter raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Please!’ he said. ‘Lunchtime is very busy.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Joyce said, relenting. ‘I’ll behave myself. So what is the special?’

He told them, and they ordered it. Kirsty wasn’t bothered what it was. Food wasn’t her priority just then.

‘Wasn’t difficult, huh?’ the waiter said with a cheeky grin.

‘Go away!’ Joyce told him. ‘We’re busy.’

‘I don’t know how you get away with it,’ Kirsty told her after he’d departed.

‘They think it means I’m a big tipper.’

‘They’ve got that wrong, haven’t they?’

Joyce grinned. ‘Now, what’s going on?’

‘Nothing much. Waiting, mostly.’

Kirsty described some of the difficulties she was having, especially the difficulty of finding people to do some of the work that needed doing.

‘It’s the same everywhere,’ Joyce told her. ‘That’s why we have all these Polish people here. Maybe you can find some of them?’

Kirsty shook her head. ‘If only it were that simple. There’s the money, as well.’

She told Joyce then about the shock she had just had over the roof.

‘Can it be done?’ Joyce asked.

‘It can,’ Kirsty admitted. ‘I’ll have the money from Mum’s house soon. I can use that. It wouldn’t be unreasonable.’

‘But?’

Kirsty shrugged. ‘Well, it’s a lot of money up front. It would pretty well clean me out. There’s a lot to consider.’

‘You have time, Kirsty. Take it. There’s no rush.’ Joyce paused and considered. ‘You’re not having second thoughts, are you?’

‘Well...’

‘You are, aren’t you?’

Kirsty nodded. ‘I think I am, yes.’

‘Why? What’s changed? If you can find the money for the work that’s needed, what’s the problem?’

‘Maybe it’s too much for me,’ Kirsty said bleakly, turning to face her. ‘More than I can manage on my own.’

Joyce nodded and studied her shrewdly. ‘There’s something more going on, isn’t there? It’s not just the money.’

Kirsty shrugged. She wasn’t sure herself. She couldn’t explain the way she felt. Except... Except on her own, now there were unanticipated problems, it seemed different. She had run out of steam.

‘It’s about Bob, isn’t it?’ Joyce breathed, her intuition working overtime. ‘It’s because of him.’

Kirsty shrugged again. ‘Maybe,’ she admitted. ‘Maybe it is.’

She suddenly felt close to tears. They had come from nowhere. Joyce silently handed her a tissue. She grabbed it gratefully and used it.

‘What I would do,’ Joyce said carefully, slowly, ‘ is I would have it out with him. I would talk to him direct. I wouldn’t get in any further until I had done that. It’s no use buying this place if you’re going to be unhappy there. Ask him what happened? Ask him why he didn’t tell you what he was doing.’

Kirsty listened but didn’t say anything.

‘Find out,’ Joyce said even more carefully, ‘if he has any feelings for you – and if you have any left for him now. Do that, Kirsty. Get it sorted before you do anything else.’

Chapter Eighteen

Later, Kirsty thought over what Joyce had said. Maybe she was right? Maybe she should ask Bob direct what was going on. What harm could it do?

It wouldn’t alter her opinion of him, and his deception, but it might restore her enthusiasm for Fells Inn. After all, as Joyce had famously said once before, you could keep a man and your business separate. Couldn’t you? Perhaps you could.

She didn’t have to go anywhere to talk to him anyway. There was such a thing as a telephone.

Carol said, ‘No. I’m sorry, Kirsty. I don’t have an address or a phone number for him. Nothing at all. It’s funny, though. Bob was here again the other day, and he was asking after you. Wanted to know if you’d been again, when you were coming next, if I knew where you lived... That man!

‘I told him. Bob, I said, I’ve got work to do. You might be on holiday, but I’m not. Honestly. Some men. They think you’ve got nothing better to do but attend to them. My husband’s just the same. If I’m in the house he expects me to be working for him. He has no idea. None of them do.

‘What was it you wanted again, Kirsty?’

Kirsty smiled and shook her head. Carol! What was she like?

‘I just need to get in touch with Bob. It’s urgent, and I was hoping you might be able to help.’

‘Hang on. I’ll have a look in the office, just in case Henry’s got something on file. He might have an address for him.’

Carol was away a few minutes, which seemed to offer grounds for hope. It was no good, though.

‘No, I’m sorry, Kirsty. I can’t find anything. Henry might know something, but he’s not here today. Can you call back tomorrow?’

‘Of course,’ Kirsty said, trying to hide her disappointment. ‘Thanks for looking, Carol.’

Carol’s voice became distant, as if she was speaking to someone else. Kirsty wasn’t even sure what she was saying for a moment. Then she came back. ‘Eddy says Bob lives in Kirkby Lonsdale. You know Eddy, don’t you? He works in the bar sometimes. Ginger hair?’

‘Oh, yes. I know Eddy.’

He was someone else she had thought she would keep on if and when she took over.

‘Kirkby Lonsdale, then, wherever that is. But Eddy doesn’t have an address.’

‘Thanks, Carol. That’s a help. And thank Eddy for me. I may come back to you tomorrow.’

‘I’ll be here. Can I ask what it’s about, Kirsty? If it’s urgent, I might be able to track Henry down to ask him. Or is it… a personal matter?’

Kirsty hesitated, wondering how much she wanted Carol to know at this stage. But it just seemed silly. What was the point? Carol was fast becoming a good friend. Besides, she needed her support, and would do even more if she decided to go ahead with buying the inn.

‘Oh, it’s not really personal, Carol. It’s about the inn. I want to know what was on Bob’s mind.’

‘Oh, is that all?’

Carol sounded disappointed.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, nothing. I just hoped... To be honest, I hoped you and Bob were maybe getting together. But that’s just me. Silly me. I must be as soft as my husband says I am.’

Kirsty tried to laugh. But she didn’t suppose for one moment she sounded convincing. ‘The inn is an important enough reason, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘Of course it is. I’m sure Bob thinks so, too.’

Carol was off and running again. Such a gush of words. Kirsty smiled and began to relax.

Kirkby Lonsdale? she thought, after she’d put the phone down. So that’s where he lives.

She got the road atlas out of her car and pored over it until she’d found Kirkby Lonsdale. Not that far from Fells, she mused. No wonder he’s there so often.

Next she turned to her computer and used a website providing a people-locating service. In minutes she had a list of “Robert Simpson” variations in and around Kirkby Lonsdale. Eight, in all.

Which one are you? she wondered, poring over the list. And what do I want to do about it?

She sat back and pondered. If one of these was the Bob she knew, what would she say to him? Have you really withdrawn your offer for Fells Inn? Just that, probably. Leave it there. Keep it impersonal.

She had no right to ask him why he hadn’t declared his interest. No right at all to demand he explain himself. His business was his business. It was none of hers.

But if she did manage to contact him, would she really speak to him only about the inn? Probably. It was hard to know what else she could do.

She grimaced. She would have to say something. She couldn’t just let it go.

Surely what had passed between them hadn’t been pure fantasy? After all, Carol had said he’d been asking after her recently. So it couldn’t all be down to her own imagination. Maybe Joyce was right. Could there be some simple, alternative explanation for Bob’s behaviour?

Oh, how she wished she had Joyce’s self-confidence. And her ability to say whatever was on her mind. Joyce would ask. And Life would be so much easier. All this agonising wasn’t getting her anywhere at all.

She went into town and did some half-hearted window shopping. Anything to take her mind off Bob and Fells Inn. Hoping, perhaps, that what she should say to him would become clear if she just stopped thinking about it for a while.

It wasn’t a solution. She managed half an hour or so. Then it all started up again. Why hadn’t Bob said anything? What was he doing, and thinking? What did he feel about her, if anything? What did she really feel about him? The same old questions, just going round and round in her head. She gave up and caught the bus home.

The journey took no time at all. She absently smoothed condensation away from the window and saw they were nearly there already. Hurriedly, she got to her feet and made her way towards the door. Other people were waiting there to get off. People she was used to seeing every day. People who lived near her and used the same bus, and whose lives were run on the same schedule as hers. But people she knew nothing about at all, even the ones she usually smiled at and sometimes said hello to. She knew nothing about them. City life. So different from Fells. So very different.

The house seemed cold when she opened the front door. The heating had not come on yet. She was going to have to adjust the timer now the days were growing shorter and the evenings longer. Now summer was over. She slumped in a chair at the kitchen table and wondered what to do. She was really fed up, totally dispirited

All she could think of was Fells, and the inn. How cheerful and lively it was there, despite Henry. And how beautiful the valley was. And how good she felt when she was there. And Bob, of course. Bob. How much she enjoyed seeing him, and being with him. Oh, how she would like to see him again, and talk to him once more.

She stirred herself. She was going to have to do something about it. She really was. She reached into her bag and found the slip of paper with the list of Bob Simpsons who lived in and around Kirkby Lonsdale. She pored over it a few moments and then reached for the phone. Only one way to find out. Make a start.

The first one was no good.

‘Not today, thank you,’ the voice replied before switching off the phone.

The second one was no better: ‘We’ve already got double glazing, love. In fact, everybody in our street has it. The Council...’

She made a cup of coffee before trying the next number on the list. This time she got a sensible reply, but no help. It wasn’t them, and they didn’t know who she could mean.

She moved on down the list, getting into the swing of it, ruling out names.

Finally, she was left with two names she hadn’t been able to rule out. Was it one of them, she wondered? Impossible to tell. Especially when no-one was answering either phone.

She sat back and considered her options. There weren’t many. Two, in fact: forget it, or do something else. And it was too late to forget it. She had too much of herself invested.

Right! she thought. This is where it gets up close and personal. It was going to have to be an in-person encounter. She was going to have to take the time and just do it.

She frowned and wavered. It was a big move to make. Then a mischievous grin broke out as she imagined Bob’s surprise when he opened the door. That would be something to see.

No, she thought then, sadly. Who am I trying to fool? I just want to see him again. That’s all there is to it.