‘I tell you, Marnie, no man has given me a bigger thrill than when HR asked me if I would consider taking on that deputy’s job.’
‘One will, one day. But make sure that he’s worth your affections. Don’t sell yourself short.’
‘I have an inbuilt detector for that sort of stuff,’ said Roisean. ‘I always thought Justin Fox was a slimy git. Can I have your mobile number?’
Roisean would end up as CEO of Café Caramba one day, Marnie was sure of it.
When Marnie got back to Little Raspberries, she found a printed A4 sheet on the doormat. An invitation to join the locals at an informal home-made wine tasting battle that night at seven. David Parselow had hand-written a note on the bottom.
Please come. We need someone who isn’t biased and can’t be corrupted and if I win, I’ll give you three bottles ;)
She was tempted. Not because of the wine but because she wanted to meet any awkwardness head on. She didn’t want people to be wary of her and worried that she was going to turn into some power-crazed bitch. She even made it as far as across the road at ten past seven, then turned back. However kind the invite, she knew that tongues would start wagging when she walked in and she couldn’t smile and be merry amongst them knowing what she was going to have to tell them in the next few days. She needed to be focused and detached because she was wielding a lot of power. And as Arthur so brilliantly put it, with great power comes great responsibility. She had to get it right, both for Lilian and Wychwell. Plus, she needed a clear head – and David and Lionel’s wines were not conducive to having one of those.
The envelope that Mr Wemyss had given her contained details of her wage for causing carnage, which was actually more like pocket money. A pittance. It wouldn’t buy her weekly requirement of butter for the cheesecake bases. Whoever the new owner was, he was taking the Michael and relying on her undertaking her duties primarily through a sense of loyalty to Lilian’s memory rather than for the cash.
As she lay in bed that night, she replayed the conversation she’d had with Roisean. She’d been really touched that not everyone automatically presumed she’d been a heartless home-wrecker. And Arthur’s opinion meant more to her than Laurence’s if she was honest. She made up her mind to send a hamper of biscuits and chocolates to arrive on Monday to christen the new regime in the department, and to say thanks for their loyalty. She also made a mental note to look through the red box of things that she’d brought from her mother’s garage. If she hadn’t been so shattered she would have sated her curiosity and got up and done it there and then, but she was degrees away from sleep and her head was beautifully nestled on her pillows. She wasn’t going anywhere now; it could wait.
She heard some drunken revellers coming out of the Wych Arms as her eyes shuttered down and she hoped that they’d still be as merry this time next week. Some definitely wouldn’t feel like singing.
Chapter 28
Marnie woke up one minute before her alarm went off at nine a.m. She’d slept for ten solid hours. She used to survive on six when she worked at Café Caramba. She had a shower and some toast and then, with the brown envelope of doom in her bag, she set off up to the manor. She pushed open the heavy oak door and walked into the hallway. Lilian’s essence was so obviously absent, the air trapped within the walls felt sad – and she knew it sounded ridiculous and she would never say it to anyone, but it was as if the house was grieving for her.
‘Hello, house,’ she said. ‘Marnie here. Remember me.’
‘Yes, I do,’ replied the house.
Then Herv appeared from behind the staircase.
‘You . . . silly bugger! You scared me stupid,’ said Marnie, patting her chest.
‘Lilian used to talk to the house too. And sometimes it would creak and she’d say, “Herv, listen, it’s talking back to me” ’. His eyes were smiling as much as his lips were at the memory. The thought came into Marnie’s head, His wife must have been a proper pillock. She pushed it away and slid into work mode.
‘I’m expecting a delivery.’
‘It’s already here,’ he replied. ‘I saw the delivery van pass my house so I came up early. I have put all the boxes in the dining room. I thought you might like to spread out over the table.’
‘Great idea,’ she said, ignoring the innuendo that he wasn’t aware he’d made. And the naughty picture that flashed up in her brain.
‘Would you like a coffee? Cilla and Zoe aren’t in today. I told them that you might need some space and quiet to work. I know Cilla is very worried that she is going to lose her job and her house so if that’s in the plans then maybe it would be better to tell the family sooner rather than later.’
‘Why would that be in the plans?’ said Marnie. It certainly wasn’t in the new owner’s initial plans and if it were, she would have fought it. Lilian thought very highly of the Oldroyd family. She wouldn’t have wanted them to feel insecure.
‘No one knows what is in the plans, that’s the problem,’ said Herv. ‘Me too. What’s the saying? Last in, first out.’
‘That would be me then, not you,’ Marnie pointed out.
‘I’ll make you a coffee,’ said Herv.
‘You don’t have to. I’m not your boss, Herv,’ said Marnie.
‘I’m making you a coffee because I want to, not because I have to. I’m having one, I presume you’d like one too?’ He phrased it as a question and stood waiting for an answer.
‘Then yes, thank you.’
‘Okay.’ He turned in the direction of the kitchen and she cringed because she had somehow turned into the sort of screw-up who read three volumes of subtext in a simple line about putting on the kettle.
*
Marnie opened up the first file her hand touched on to get a flavour of what she was tackling. It would all have made more sense if it had been written in hieroglyphics because at least then the pictures might have given her a clue as to what was going on. She had a feeling that Gladwyn Sutton’s writing was deliberately cryptic and, when she picked up a later ledger, found that he’d taught his son well.
Herv brought a coffee in for her, registering the expression of bafflement on her face.
‘I can’t make head nor tail of any of it,’ she said.
‘Can I look?’ he asked.
‘Help yourself.’
He bent over her shoulder and she caught the scent of him: something foresty and fresh and Nordic, something that his natural scents combined beautifully with, something that her senses approved of.
‘What language is it?’ he asked.
‘Gobbledygook,’ replied Marnie. ‘This is going to be a nightmare.’
‘You need to find the key to break the code.’
‘I don’t think Alan Turing could break this,’ sighed Marnie.
‘Can I help?’ said Herv. ‘I used to be a teacher.’
‘What did you teach, Herv, espionage?’
Herv chuckled. ‘Maths, History and Classics so I have a good head for these things. It likes to contemplate problems and solve them.’ His arm whispered past her left ear as his finger touched the paper. ‘See, this is an s though it looks like an f. And this is an e, though it appears to be an i, but the i is taller, like a lower case l.’