Empty Nest by Marty Wingate Read Free Book Online Page B

ventures.”
    “Of course, Cecil,” I said. “I could email you updates.”
    “No, there’s no need for that. We could meet on a regular basis, each day perhaps. Briefly—I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time.”
    “Yes,” I said, smiling through clenched teeth. “I’d be happy to do that.”
    Vesta and I watched as the three made their way down the pavement—Linus wheeling his bicycle—before stopping in front of Three Bags Full, the wool shop.
    “There now,” Vesta said, retreating to switch on the kettle, “I’d say they were impressed with your plans.”
    I followed her and rummaged in our basket of open biscuit packets, found the chocolate digestives, and started in on one before replying. “As long as they don’t get two doors down and say, ‘Hang on, we forgot to ask about that mission statement.’ ”
    Vesta dropped tea bags into our mugs. “Mr. Fotheringill—Cecil—acts as if he has something to prove. Perhaps he’s worried he won’t live up to his father’s expectations.”
    Soon after I had first met Vesta, I’d learned she had a talent for seeing through my own defenses, but with Cecil she might be a bit too generous. “Or he just wants to lord it over us—literally.”
    “Do these belong to Willow?” Vesta asked, nodding to a shoe box on the counter that held several trays of watercolor paints—mostly used up—a handful of brushes, and a stack of art paper, wavy from the damp.
    “Mmm,” I replied. “She’s organizing a children’s art competition—‘Who can paint the best picture of Hoggin Hall?’ ”
    Willow, our intern as of a fortnight ago, was a bright young woman in her early twenties, who lived with her aunt Lottie, proprietor of Three Bags Full. Willow had finished university a few years ago, but had recently decided she wanted to be a teacher and would be starting up a certificate course in the spring. Lottie had begged Vesta and me to take on Willow as an intern, as it seemed that Willow had more ideas and projects than the shop could handle.
    I looked in the fridge for milk and spied my packaged chicken-and-stuffing sandwich. That’s right, I’d had no lunch, and now I was starving. I ripped it open and tucked in.
    “Are you finished with these?” Vesta asked, holding up the package of chocolate digestives.
    My mouth full of sandwich, I could only nod. “Wait!” I said, although it came out as “Woof!” I grabbed one more biscuit for afters and said, “Fuff”—translation, “Finished.” Vesta narrowed her eyes at me and set the package on the table. She knew better.

Chapter 7
    I walked back to the Hall in the dark—we lost more and more light every day. When the streetlights gave out just past the bridge, I pulled a tiny electric torch from my bag to light my way. No sign of Thorne in the entry. I went straight to my room, changed into dressy trousers and a pink silk top, and went down to the kitchen. Waiting for me on the thick oak table sat a wedge of Nuala’s chocolate cake and a note: “Julia!”
    I switched on the kettle and checked the time—just gone seven o’clock, plenty of time for cake before dinner. I was halfway through when Mrs. Bugg came in to slice the ginger-glazed ham and toss the salad. Thorne arrived next and began arranging a tray.
    “You haven’t spoilt your supper, now have you, Ms. Lanchester?” Mrs. Bugg asked.
    “Certainly not,” I said. Although the cake had taken the polish off the thought of a three-course meal.
    Thorne retrieved a platter for Mrs. Bugg and set out serving spoons. “The new agent, Mr. Addleton, will be dining here at the Hall this evening.”
    Dinner was sounding less appealing by the minute.
    “I don’t suppose I could eat here in the kitchen with the two of you,” I said. “Thorne, I could help you serve in the dining room.”
    “Yes, Ms. Lanchester, a fine idea,” he said. I caught a spark from his hazel eyes. “And afterward, we’ll ask his Lordship to do the