The Little Village Bakery: A feel good romantic comedy with plenty of cake (Honeybourne Book 1) (9 page)

The thunderstorm proved to be violent, but it was also mercifully short. A handful of thunderclaps that felt as though they shook the very earth, lightning that tore a blazing path across the sky as Millie watched from the safety of her bedroom, a sharp deluge, and it was all over. An hour later, the day was still overcast, but the heat that had baked the village over the previous weeks was building up again. Everyone had been talking about the summer of ’76 since the heatwave began, and for the last few days, every newspaper had reported that this summer had broken the record of that quite remarkable year. From the way the sky was clearing up now, it didn’t seem as though the sun was finished with Britain yet.

By about ten o’clock the sun began to climb back into the sky, Millie glanced at her watch for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. Ruth hadn’t called this morning, and Millie’s mood had gone from one of optimism to a crushing fear. What if her potion had done something it shouldn’t have done? What if Ruth was unwell, unable to wake… or worse? Dragging a pestle and mortar from a cupboard, she began to crush a mixture of leaves into a paste, working with fierce concentration in a bid to cleanse herself of these unhelpful thoughts. She had work to do, lots of toiletries and potions to make for her first craft fair, and moping wasn’t going to get any of that done. The draught she had given Ruth was a simple remedy, one of the first she had learned to make – of course nothing had gone wrong. But if that was true, where was Ruth?

‘Hello? Millie, are you home?’ Jasmine called through the letterbox.

Millie clicked her tongue, annoyed at herself for being so melodramatic, and went to find her friend. Jasmine stood on the step, looking adorable in a pair of loose-fitting floral trousers and a long-sleeved cheesecloth blouse, her hair piled on her head with a huge clip. Her cheeks wore a natural blush that made Millie feel very grey indeed, her morning of worry and lack of make-up not helping to dispel that feeling.

‘Did you hear that thunder this morning?’ Jasmine asked, following Millie back into the main shop.

Millie nodded. ‘It was mad, wasn’t it?’ She took her place behind the counter again, clearing away some of the debris.

Jasmine ran her gaze over the detritus of her morning’s work. ‘You have been busy. It smells amazing in here. What are you making?’

‘I thought I’d start with hemp soap. It always seems to go down well.’

Jasmine grinned. ‘Don’t let Dylan know you’ve got hemp in here. He’ll be trying to smoke it.’

‘I’m not sure it’s quite the right hemp. Besides, he can’t smoke a bar of soap.’

‘Trust me, he’d try.’

Millie gave her a small smile.

‘What’s the matter?’ Jasmine asked.

‘Have you seen Ruth this morning?’

Jasmine frowned slightly. ‘You mean she wasn’t here at the crack of dawn plying you with tea and toast?’

‘No. She normally comes way before now.’

‘Want me to go and knock at hers?’

Millie shook her head. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing.’

Jasmine’s frown deepened. ‘Are you certain you’re alright? You seem more worried about this than it probably warrants, if I’m honest. Has something happened?’

‘No… She came over last night and stayed until late. We drank some whisky and she told me about all her illnesses. I thought…’

Jasmine smiled. ‘Let me tell you that Ruth Evans can drink us all under the table, even though she looks like a frail little old lady. I’m sure she’s fine, probably just sleeping off a hangover.’

Millie forced a smile of her own. ‘I’m sure you’re right. So… what brings you over?’

‘I’m taking you out.’

‘I can’t… Where?’

‘There’s a bakery in Ringwood I want to go and have a look at. They do some amazing cakes and savouries and they also do a roaring trade. I thought we could go and check it out, see what sort of thing sets them apart from other bakeries.’

‘Like industrial espionage?’

‘No!’ Jasmine laughed. ‘Like research. You won’t be in competition with them, but you might pick up some useful tips. I’m sure they won’t mind if two very nosey and not remotely invested tourists quiz them a little about their business.’

Millie paused, glancing around at the mess she had made and the work she still had to do. ‘I don’t know…’

‘Won’t all this wait?’

‘I don’t think so. It might spoil if I leave it unfinished.’ She looked up to see that Jasmine’s expression was a little hurt. For a moment she felt cruel, but Jasmine had given her no warning. What sort of person expected you to drop everything at a moment’s notice and go out? ‘I can’t go today,’ she added stubbornly.

‘I know it’s last minute, it’s just that I had some free time. But I should have realised that you might not. Don’t worry about it.’

Immediately, Millie hated herself for her thoughts. How could she have been so mean spirited? She smiled brightly. ‘No, don’t apologise. I’m being ungrateful and it’s lovely that you want to help. Let me clear up and set what I’ve done. It might take an hour or so… Will that be ok?’

‘Brilliant,’ Jasmine squeaked. ‘I’ll help if I can. Just point me to things and tell me what to do with them.’

T
he trip
out to Ringwood had turned out to be a welcome distraction from the increasingly morbid fears plaguing Millie. They hadn’t been alleviated by the fact that Jasmine insisted on knocking on Ruth’s door on the way to get her car, only to find that the old lady didn’t answer. But as Jasmine gently reminded Millie, Ruth was often out and about all over the village, bothering anyone who had a spare moment to listen, so it didn’t mean anything. In all likelihood, Jasmine laughed, she had invented a new and hideous ailment to go and see Dr Wood about. She told Millie not to worry, they should go for their afternoon out as planned and she would call later to see if Ruth had returned. If she still didn’t answer her door, Millie had permission to start worrying. Reluctantly, Millie had agreed, and as the distance from Honeybourne increased, she had started to feel better.

The Riverside Bakery was a delightful place. It was decorated in mouth-watering pastels, a small array of elaborate wrought-iron tables and chairs outside in the sun. Inside, it was a delight of vintage posters and floral patchworks, with the most divine fragrances filling the air from the kitchens. The owner had been only too happy to chat to them about new and unusual recipes that had been a hit with their customers, such as rhubarb-and-custard pasties, sugar-coated Yorkshire puddings with toffee sauce, and pies stuffed with pulled pork and plum sauce. The conversation was punctuated with a steady stream of customers, but not once did the owner, a small, dapper man who seemed like something from an Agatha Christie novel, feel the need to excuse himself from his enthusiastic accounts of how he got started in baking and how wonderful the staff, consisting entirely of family members, were. Emboldened by his easy-going and friendly manner, Millie told him a little of her own hopes and fears for her village bakery. Whilst she knew that the success of his enterprise was always going to eclipse her own – it was in a much bigger town – the visit still filled her with hope and a new enthusiasm. They left with a bag of cakes and pies almost large enough to feed their own village and promises to come back once they were up and running to share how they were getting along. And the owner of the Riverside Bakery had promised to call in next time he got a free day and was in the area.

But as they returned to Honeybourne and to Millie’s tumbledown bakery, it seemed that the very structure itself had been incubating Millie’s fears, so that they came back to assault her, sharper and more painful than they had been before.

‘I’m going to check on Ruth again,’ she said, placing the bag of treats on the counter.

‘Let me do that,’ Jasmine said. ‘If she’s still missing we’ll take it more seriously.’

Millie paused before nodding shortly. ‘Thanks. I’ll put the kettle on while you’re gone.’

A few moments later Jasmine returned with Ruth in tow. Millie heaved a huge sigh of relief as she saw that not only did Ruth look to be in very good spirits, but she looked a great deal healthier than she had done since Millie had moved to Honeybourne.

‘Do you know what time I woke today?’ Ruth asked, rushing over with surprising speed to grasp Millie by the hand. ‘Two o’clock… in the afternoon! I’ve never slept that long and that well – not for years. I feel twenty years younger today!’

Millie smiled as Ruth pulled her into a kiss on the cheek. ‘That’s good. So the sleeping draught worked?’

‘Sleeping draught? It’s like an elixir of life or something! I feel as though every ailment I had is cured.’

‘Dr Wood won’t know what to do with himself,’ Jasmine put in with a wry smile.

‘Honestly,’ Ruth continued, unperturbed, ‘you could sell that potion and make a fortune.’

The old darkness crossed Millie’s features again. ‘I could never sell it. Those remedies are ages old and the knowledge needed to make them is something valuable that demands respect, they’re not for personal gain.’

Jasmine and Ruth exchanged troubled glances.

‘She didn’t mean anything by it,’ Jasmine said.

Millie turned her back on them in a bid to compose herself. ‘I know you didn’t, Ruth,’ she said, facing them again. ‘It’s been a long day and I still have a lot to do.’

‘We’ll go,’ Jasmine said, nodding at Ruth.

‘No… not yet. I have all this cake from Riverside to eat and I certainly can’t manage it alone.’ Millie forced a smile for them.

‘If you’re sure,’ Jasmine said uncertainly, but then turned to see Ruth already settled in her usual place in the bay window seat.

‘Of course I’m sure.’ Millie smiled, a little too brightly.

M
illie had bottled
the last of her almond oil moisturisers, along with fennel shampoos, witch hazel cleansers and various soaps. She stood back and surveyed the crates, a great feeling of achievement prompting a secret smile. When Jasmine had suggested she make products to sell, she had been doubtful that she could do it on such a commercial scale. When Jasmine had then announced that a big craft fair was coming up in Salisbury in two weeks and that it would be a good idea for Millie to have her stock ready, it had seemed impossible to do it at such short notice. But here she was, the night before, and thanks to her hard work for every evening of that two weeks, everything was ready. As she progressed, working like a woman possessed and enjoying it, she had thought long and hard about whether, in fact, she might be better off changing her business plan, forgetting the bakery and doing craft fairs with Jasmine full time. But every time she came close to making that decision, she remembered the irrational pull that had brought her to Honeybourne, and the voice in her head that had nagged her to buy the old building. What if she forsook that now? The old place deserved to be restored; every brick, every beam, begged for it, and Millie could not allow herself to be distracted from the task she had promised to undertake. There was something strange and spiritual about it that she couldn’t explain. But the feeling was there all the same. As it haunted her again, she made a note to ask Jasmine about who had owned the bakery and what had happened to them.

Letting out a huge yawn, she checked her watch. Tomorrow would be hectic, and although it was only just gone nine, her bed was calling. Perhaps it would be a good idea to get a proper night’s sleep for once. Just as she was about to lock the front door and blow out the candles dotted around the room, there was a tap at the window and there was Ruth.

‘What can I do for you?’ she asked as she opened the door to let her in.

‘I wanted to come before you locked up for the night… I don’t suppose you have any more of that wonderful sleeping draught, do you?’

Millie’s smile slipped. ‘You won’t need it again.’

‘But I can’t sleep without it.’

‘Ruth… you’ve only used it for one night. How do you know if you don’t try?’

‘Please. I won’t keep badgering you. How about you make me an extra big bottle and then I won’t need to.’

‘I can’t, Ruth.’

The old woman cast her gaze to the ground. ‘I only wanted a little,’ she mumbled. ‘I had such a wonderful night’s sleep – the best I’ve had in years…’

Millie placed a hand on her arm. ‘Have you had any trouble from your joints today?’

Ruth looked up at her, confusion colouring her features. ‘Come to think of it, I haven’t.’

‘Didn’t you notice?’

She shook her head. ‘Having such a good sleep must have made me forget somehow, but I suppose I should have. It is strange.’

‘Trust me; you’ll sleep tonight without the draught. In fact, you won’t ever need it again. And you won’t be troubled by your arthritis either.’

Ruth stared at her. ‘Won’t I?’

Millie shook her head with an indulgent smile.

‘I’m cured? But… how?’

‘An ancient remedy that most people have forgotten. If you ask me, that’s probably as it should be.’ Millie began to usher Ruth to the front door. ‘We should keep this between you and me.’

‘Should we?’

‘Yes. When people don’t understand things it can lead to awkward questions and mistrust.’

‘Can it?’

‘Yes. Do you mind terribly if I don’t ask you to stay tonight? Only I have an early start with Jasmine.’

‘Jasmine Green? Works at the pub?’

Millie sighed. There were some things she could cure, but, it seemed, Ruth’s memory was not one of them. ‘Jasmine Green, yes, but she doesn’t work at the pub anymore.’

‘That’s right, I know that.’ At the doorstep, Ruth stopped and turned back. ‘So, I really am cured?’

‘I hope so,’ Millie replied. ‘But remember, it’s our little secret.’

‘Our little secret. Righto.’

Ruth tottered out into the balmy evening air. Millie watched her head in the direction of her own cottage. She wondered whether Ruth even knew what the meaning of the word ‘secret’ was. She just hoped her memory would be bad enough that she would forget about a funny little sleeping draught her neighbour had given her during a moment of weakness. While she was happy to see Ruth was much better, the last thing she needed now was curious Honeybourne residents coming to see what it was that had the village gossip walking taller than she had done in years.