‘Follow me,’ she said, taking his bag from him.
Luke followed Orla into a part of the castle he hadn’t seen before. She opened a door and led him into a light and airy room that was full of tables on which sat row upon row of crockery. He’d never seen so many plates, cups, saucers, bowls and jugs in one room before. It was crammed full. There were at least twelve tables in there, of varying heights, and each was smothered in pieces, as were the deep windowsills and a shelving unit against the far wall.
Luke stood in wonder, taking it all in. There was the Victorian jug he recognised from Orla’s Galleria avatar and there was the pretty dish covered in golden pheasants which Helen had recently admired. He dared to reach out and touch it, as if his closeness to a thing Helen had loved would bring him a little closer to her.
‘You have very good taste,’ Orla said, noting his interest.
‘Helen’ – he paused – ‘she liked this piece when you posted a photo.’
‘Yes, she did, didn’t she? I remember we talked about it.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Oh, the usual – where had I found it. And that’s the tricky thing with vintage pieces – it would be hard, if not impossible, for anybody else to find them.’
‘I remember Helen saying something about that,’ Luke told Orla. ‘How that made the pieces all the more special.’
Orla smiled. There was something in that smile and in sharing their memories of Helen in this way that made him feel both happy and sad at the same time.
‘Helen was right,’ Orla went on. ‘That’s why I buy boxes like this.’
Luke watched as she opened the box he’d carried in for her, a huge smile spreading across her face. He’d never seen her smile quite like that before and it charmed him.
‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘What’s in there?’
‘Why don’t you take a look?’
He stepped forward and peered into the depths of the box. ‘More china?’
‘Of course.’
‘But you have so much already.’
‘Yes, but you’re always looking for that extra-special piece.’
‘Do you think you’ll ever find it?’
‘I hope not, because I wouldn’t like to think the search was over. That’s part of the fun, you see. The search. Of course, when you buy online, you often have to wade through a lot of tat. This was a job lot, you see, and I only wanted a couple of pieces so I’m now stuck with this nineteen-eighties rabbit ornament.’ She pulled the heavy lump of rabbit out of the box and grimaced, then reached back in to retrieve a very average-looking teapot.
‘So what was it that was special in this lot?’
Orla’s hands dived back into the box and she pulled out a round object smothered in bubble wrap.
‘This,’ she said as she placed it on a corner of the only free table in the room and began to unwrap it. Luke watched in anticipation as she removed layer upon layer of wrapping. What was inside?
When the final piece of bubble wrap was removed, he found himself staring at a teapot.
‘Oh,’ he said, unable to hide his disappointment.
Orla frowned at him. ‘It’s Coalport. Quite rare. Look!’ She held it up to the light and Luke saw the delicate creamy white of the china and the pretty sprigs of blue flowers. ‘It’s early nineteenth century.’
‘But it’s chipped,’ he pointed out, reaching to touch the chip at the edge of the spout.
‘I know, and there’s a hairline crack here,’ Orla told him, running her finger across it at the base of the handle. ‘And here.’ Her finger journeyed to the other side of the teapot to trace the thin imperfection there.
‘Ah, yes! That’s part of their charm for you, isn’t it?’
She nodded. ‘Nobody else would want these things or really value them. But, to me, they’re special.’
‘A bit like One Ear, eh?’
‘Exactly! I told you he’d been in the rescue home for months?’
‘Yes.’
‘Nobody wanted him until I came along. But I knew he was the one for me. We had . . .’ – she paused – ‘things in common.’
Luke finally made the connection, because Orla was missing her left ear. It wasn’t always obvious because she managed to hide her loss with her long dark hair, but he couldn’t help wondering if that was why she’d been drawn to the disfigured dog.
‘Orla?’
‘Yes?’
‘What happened to you?’
She looked up, lowering the teapot carefully to the table. ‘You can’t ask me that.’
‘Why not? You know what’s happened to me.’
‘That’s different.’
‘How?’
‘You came to me with that; I didn’t come to you.’
Luke sighed. She was right. ‘But I’d like to know. I mean, if you don’t mind talking about it.’
‘I do mind.’
‘Okay.’ He backed down, seeing that she was upset. The last thing he wanted to do was to upset her. Helen would be furious with him if she knew he’d upset her, wouldn’t she?
Orla’s gaze dropped down to the teapot again. Teapots and cups and saucers were safe, weren’t they? He could see why she surrounded herself with them. They didn’t ask questions.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said, feeling awkward and backing out of the room.
‘Luke?’
He stopped in the doorway and turned back to face her.
‘It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. It’s that – I can’t . . .’ Her voice caught in her throat and her eyes sparkled with sudden tears. ‘I can’t talk about it.’
‘It’s okay. Really.’
She nodded, reminding him of a scared little girl standing in the middle of that room surrounded by all that china. The pieces were like grown-up toys, he thought. An adult’s version perhaps. Beautiful distractions from whatever horror she was trying to shut out.
Chapter 9
Despite Orla telling him that she didn’t want to talk to him about her past or the way she chose to live her life, Luke couldn’t help thinking of ways to reach out to her. The thing he kept coming back to was the horticultural group he’d seen advertised in the village. He was so sure that he could help her and he couldn’t help feeling that Helen was somehow guiding him in this. So, the next day, after a good couple of hours working on repointing one of the walls in the great chamber, Luke walked into the village and reread the poster on the noticeboard.
‘New members welcome,’ he read again. There was a telephone number and an address. Oyster Cottage, Quay Road. Luke looked up into the sky and decided to walk down towards the quay. The red-bricked cottages that lined the narrow street looked resplendent in the sunshine and gardens were colouring up with the bright purples of alliums and the first roses of summer. As he approached the quay, the sound of gulls pierced the sky and he started to look out for Oyster Cottage. It wasn’t hard to find and he was soon knocking on the door. As with his arrival at the castle, the sound of barking was heard, but this sounded like a much smaller dog than One Ear. Mind you, weren’t all dogs much smaller than One Ear, Luke thought?