Bridge thought back: she’d been selling advertising space at that age. Working long hours selling a sub-standard product for a sub-standard rate of commission, then she’d stay behind when the others had gone to clean the building so she could at least take a semblance of a wage home. She emerged from the cubicle, went over to the sink, pushed some soap onto her hand from the dispenser before turning on the tap.
‘What line of work is Jack in that you needed to travel so far for a meeting on Christmas Eve morning?’
‘Scones,’ replied Mary.
‘Scones?’ Bridge couldn’t help the hoot of laughter that escaped from her. She’d been expecting the answer to be on the lines of national security.
‘Yep, scones. Just scones, nothing else. Butterly’s Scones. Jack’s grandad Bill set it up. Jack’s the third generation to run the company. Since he’s been top dog, he’s taken it to heights his dad and grandfather wouldn’t have even dreamed of. Anyway, a bakery owner in Japan contacted us to do business with him and I can’t count the number of times I’ve fixed up meetings only for him to drop out at the last minute. But he was bobbing over from Brussels on business today and I managed to persuade him to squeeze in seeing Jack in the morning before his plane left Newcastle, but he backed out yet again – just before we found this place. Jack’s furious and I can’t say I blame him.’
Bridge made a whistle. It all sounded very big business. ‘I didn’t realise there was such a demand for scones that you needed a whole factory to produce them and nothing else.’
‘Oh goodness me yes,’ said Mary with emphasis. ‘At capacity we can produce two million scones per day. We do every sort too, raisin, cheese, cherry, treacle, gluten-free, vegan, different grades and prices and more long-lasting ones, which we export. We run machines twenty-four-seven. There’s the demand all right, and it’s growing.’
It was on the tip of Bridge’s tongue to say ‘You must have a word with my ex about the vegan scones,’ but she stopped herself. Why should she give Luke Palfreyman any mention where a possible business venture was concerned?
‘Why are you here then?’ said Mary, trying not to stare too much at Bridge’s face. She thought she was beautiful, with her large hazel eyes and her brave red lipstick. It should have clashed with her fire-flame hair, but quite the opposite. It was amazing what a bit of chutzpah did for you. Her dad had taught her that word. Maybe one day she’d have some too.
‘I’m meeting my husband,’ Bridge said, still washing her hands with the thoroughness of Lady Macbeth. ‘Soon to be ex-husband.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Mary, though she didn’t really.
‘Our marriage took a lot of… deconstructing.’ Bridge chose the word carefully. It was a tame one to use to describe a war. ‘But we got there.’
‘Good that you were able to sort everything out in the end though,’ said Mary with a little smile.
‘We both figured we didn’t want the solicitors creaming off all our hard-earned cash, so we did most of our fighting without involving them, which was hard and probably stupid, but we managed eventually to come to an agreement that works for both. Neither of us wanted to step into another new year without resolving everything, as we both intend to be married to our new partners sooner rather than later.’
‘It’s a bit easier when you’ve both got someone else,’ said Mary. ‘When my aunt and uncle split up, he got himself a young, glamorous girlfriend and my auntie was so bitter and jealous about it. She still is and it’s been ten years since they got divorced. In fact she’s worse now than she was then. She can’t let it go.’
‘Yes, well, neither of us wants to be like that.’
‘Much better to be sensible and cut finally and cleanly,’ said Mary, nodding with a sagacity that belied her age.
Bridge snapped out a paper towel to dry her hands. ‘Do yourself a favour, love, and stay single. The St Georges of today are the dragons of tomorrow.’
Which was an odd thing to say for someone about to get married to a new partner, thought Mary as she followed Bridge out.
Chapter 5
‘Anyone fancy a coffee?’ asked Mary, when they rejoined the others. The fire had taken hold of the logs now, flames licking upwards with golden eagerness. Outside, the snow was falling relentlessly and it all looked very festive on both sides of the bar lounge windows. The whole indoor scene could quite happily have sat on a Christmas card if it wasn’t for the five disgruntled, inconvenienced faces; Jack’s claiming first prize.
‘Yes, I’ll have one, love. Shall I come and help you?’ said Robin.
‘No, it’s fine,’ said Mary. ‘I think I can manage a few coffees.’ It was what she did, after all. She made a lot of coffees in her job, arranged a lot of biscuits on plates. At least Jack always said thank you, however distracted he was, unlike his father Reg.
‘If you can find any biscuits backstage, I’d be awfully grateful,’ said Charlie with a cheeky, hopeful grin.
‘Cholesterol!’ barked Robin.
‘Oh shut up, you miserable queen,’ replied Charlie and flapped his hand at his much younger husband.
‘You can have one, if Mary finds some,’ Robin relented.
‘I’m starving. I saved up my calories for the lovely meal we were going to have in Aviemore tonight. I’ve only had a porridge in the service station. It was supposed to be maple syrup flavoured,’ Charlie explained to Bridge. ‘Tasted of fish to me.’ He pulled a face and she laughed. As people to be trapped in a deserted inn with went, Charlie would have been a good choice, she thought. He had a benign air and twinkly, mischievous bright blue-grey eyes.
Bridge was peckish too. She hadn’t eaten all day because the thought of meeting Luke had wiped away any appetite she might have otherwise had. She regretted not stoking up on breakfast at the Hilton where she was staying. She wondered where he was now. Maybe he was holed up in some service station. Maybe he’d broken down and was currently freezing his nuts off in the driver’s seat of his no doubt very posh and totally impractical car. It would serve him right, just for being Luke Palfreyman. She also hoped he was safe.
‘Well this is very Agatha Christie,’ said Charlie, after a few minutes of them staring silently into the mesmerising, dancing flames. ‘And then there were five. One by one, we’ll be getting picked off by a murderer who sits among us. Or perhaps is presently hiding in the cellar.’
‘You’ll be the first victim, I bet,’ said Robin. ‘We’ll all be queueing to shut you up before too long.’
Charlie chuckled.
‘So what line of business are you in then, Jack?’ asked Robin.
‘Scones,’ came the reply.
‘Ooh, I would kill for a buttered scone right now,’ said Charlie with relish.
‘You’re getting a biscuit with any luck, be grateful for that,’ Robin said in reply, before turning back to Jack. ‘Just scones? Nothing else?’
‘Just scones. Different recipes for home and export and different flavours but all just scones,’ Jack answered him. ‘What about you two?’
‘I was a jeweller before I retired,’ said Charlie. ‘Mainly I dealt in diamonds. I always had an instinctive eye for quality.’ He turned his eyes towards Robin.