‘That’s right. The two together are going to become a two-bedroom cottage for a family. They’ve been waiting to move into it for ages. I really do want to get on to it and that means I have to have you out.’
‘So what about your own house? Couldn’t you spend your time on that, and leave me and Amy alone?’
He shook his head. ‘I only work on my house between working on proper jobs.’
‘So my studio’s not going to be a holiday home?’ Helena and Amy, neighbours and old friends, had spent a lot of time raging that their studios were likely to be turned into holiday lets or second homes.
Jago shook his head. ‘Nope. All my projects are for families who want homes. Or – to be fair – single people as well. But they have to have a commitment to the area. Now please start – I’m longing to know if you like it.’
Helena felt a bit nonplussed as she took a bite of sandwich. She needed time to process this. All property developers were evil, everyone knew that. Why was this one not conforming to type? ‘Oh God!’ she said after a couple of chews. ‘This sandwich really is delicious!’
‘Told you!’ Jago bit into his own version. ‘I haven’t lost it. I used to work in a sandwich bar.’
‘I guessed as much.’
‘Would you like a beer with that?’
Helena shook her head. ‘No thanks. Another cup of tea would be great though.’ She might have to go and see her mother anyway when she’d finished her throw, just to pass on all the details she’d discovered about the man who was making her homeless. She didn’t ever drink and drive. It was such a shame Amy was away – she’d find it even more fascinating.
She sipped her tea when it came and carried on eating. Eventually, when she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand in case there were traces of mayonnaise around it, she said, ‘What’s the kitten’s name?’
‘Dobson,’ said Jago.
‘Oh? Like the book?’
‘That’s right.’ His expression became more intense, as if she suddenly interested him. ‘Not many people would have made that connection.’
Helena shrugged. ‘My mum told me about it. Zuleika Dobson, I mean. Zuleika was one of the names she thought of for me. She likes literary associations.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’d better get back. I was in the middle of finishing a throw when you knocked on my door.’ She paused. ‘It was a really great sandwich.’
He smiled, his teeth white in his generally sand-coloured face. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’
As Helena walked back to her studio and her work she wondered whether, if Amy had been asked to rescue the kitten, her friend would have managed to get more out of Jago in return than a sandwich. Amy was good at getting what she wanted from men and would have said Helena didn’t have enough practice.
As Helena worked, throwing the shuttle back and forth in a way she always felt helped her think more clearly, she calculated how many more blankets and throws she would have to do to have sufficient product for the next big wool show. World of Wool was in late May, and it was now the first week of April – she should be able to make enough. Woolly World, as she liked to call it, was more important than most shows, because as well as the general public other weavers would be there to see her specifically. Her weaving guru, Julia Coombes, whom she always thought of when she was weaving, had said good things about her and she owed it to her to produce good work. Julia had always been such an inspiration to her.
And she’d have to have lots of different things to show. Rectangular shapes – blankets, shawls and throws – on their own wouldn’t cut it; she’d also need plenty of fine woven fabric that could be made into waistcoats, jackets or even handbags.
Feeling a bit despondent and unexpectedly tired she decided it was probably delayed shock and that she should go and see her mother and tell her all about having to climb down a ladder into an enclosed space to rescue a kitten. She had been slightly tempted to text Amy but Amy would somehow manage to turn the conversation on to her favourite theme: getting Helena to try a dating app. Her mother would give her tea, cake and sympathy – much more what she wanted right now.
Chapter Two
Helena never went up the drive to her old childhood home without thinking how lovely it was. And, now it was a very upmarket Cotswolds bed and breakfast, Fairacres was even lovelier than it had been when she was a child. The garden, which had been a bit rambly and overgrown, was much neater now it had to have ‘kerb appeal’. But the atmosphere of homely comfort was still the first and lasting impression. High-end it might be, but it was supremely welcoming.
She drove round to the back of the house, leaving the sweeping drive for any guests who might be arriving. She went in through the back door and found her mother in the kitchen. A cooling tray with fingers of shortbread on it stood on the table, obviously just out of the oven. ‘Hi, Mum! Baking again? I’ve chosen my moment well.’
Gilly laughed. ‘There are some broken ones you can eat.’
‘Can’t give the guests broken biscuits,’ said Helena, picking up two shards of shortbread, still warm. ‘These are so good! No wonder I had to move out! You’d have had to remove the doors to extract me, I’d have been so fat.’
Gilly moved the kettle across to the hot part of the range. ‘It’s nice to see someone eat. The last time I offered Cressida a biscuit she looked as if I’d handed her a dog turd on a doily.’
Helena assessed her mother’s mood. Personally, she was always up for a bitch about her sister-in-law but her mother was generally more loyal. Gilly didn’t seem to want to go on about her son’s model-like wife, or ‘waif’ as Helena privately – and guiltily – called her. ‘Why did you mention her?’ she said, taking another crumbling mouthful and sitting down.
‘She’s just phoned. She wants us to go to them for Sunday lunch. That’s nice, isn’t it?’
Helena thought her mother sounded rather desperate, so she nodded in what she hoped was a neutral way. ‘It’s been a while. We can take sandwiches in the car for afterwards.’
Her mother laughed. ‘Helena! I know she’s not exactly a lavish hostess but you never leave the house hungry.’
‘I’m sure we get exactly the right amount of calories required for a light lunch and there’s always plenty of delicious kale to fill up on. But we never leave thinking, that was a lovely meal, do we?’ Helena had given up trying not to let her feelings for her sister-in-law show. ‘Whenever I see Cressida – the sky will fall in if anyone called her “Cress” – with her over-toned arms and perfect fake tan, I want to tell her to put on a cardi and eat a scone!
‘But, Mum! I have news – sort of.’
‘Really darling? Shall I make tea? Did you have lunch?’
‘Yes please to tea,’ said Helena, anticipating her mother’s excitement. ‘But no to lunch. I had an enormous ham and cheese sandwich on toasted sourdough and it was delicious!’
When Gilly had put the kettle on she sat down opposite Helena. ‘So tell me your news?’
A huge fluffy ginger cat, apparently just as keen for information, landed on Helena’s lap like a fur-covered sandbag. Automatically, Helena started stroking it. ‘Well, I had to rescue a kitten from a very narrow space, with a ladder, for my landlord. A kitten about a tenth the size of you, Ulysses.’