Keep Me Forever. Rosemary Laurey

that Antonia avoided. Upstairs were five rooms, and the old book room still lined with shelves. “We can take those out if we need too,” Antonia said, “but I keep hoping we can find a bookseller to join us.”

      They ended up in the kitchen with its vast Aga and delft-tiled fireplace. “We are keeping those, aren’t we?” Elizabeth asked. Seemed a shame to yank them out.

      “Yes, but not here. The Aga will be a feature in the tearoom. Not sure what to do with the tiles.” She frowned a little as if thinking. “I knew a potter once. Dutch. Refugee. Odd people, potters.” Elizabeth was tempted to ask when and a refugee from which war? But Antonia ran her hand through her short hair and said, “Let’s grab something for you to eat and then get you a car.”

      They were heading for the door when the bell chimed. Antonia opened the door to a smiling, bright-faced young woman in the advanced stages of pregnancy. “I’m Emma Gordon,” she said. “One of your neighbors. I nipped in to say hello and bring you a basket of goodies. I thought with moving in, you’d like something to nibble on.”

      If the fates were kind, there would be meat in the basket of goodies. “How nice of you,” Elizabeth said. “You live close?” This had to be the Emma Dixie had mentioned.

      “Next door but two. Just past the new semidetached. That’s us. I thought you could use a cup of tea. There’s a thermos in there and cups. I know what it’s like moving. We just moved half our stuff next door, and it took me ages to find spoons and spare socks.”

      “Won’t you come in and join us?” Antonia asked. “We’ve not much furniture, but we’ve desks and chairs.”

      It didn’t take long to unpack Emma’s basket of goodies and pour tea.

      “You moved next door?” Elizabeth asked. Seemed odd.

      “We needed the space. Where we are used to be a terrace of four cottages. Then they got converted into two houses. We bought ours when Peter was born. This”—she patted her bump—“will be numbers four and five. Plus I run a catering business—you’ve got a few samples there.” She nodded toward the basket. “So, when our next door neighbor moved away, we got a truly frightening mortgage and bought the other half. It’s brilliant. We have bedrooms and to spare, and a wonderfully massive kitchen for the business.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Ian says I have the shortest commute to work in history: downstairs and turn left.”

      Elizabeth took a sip of tea. “The catering business sounds fantastic, but a heck of a lot of work. How old are your children?”

      “The eldest is in school. The other two in a play group this afternoon, and when they’re not, I have a wonderful au pair, Nina from Sweden.” The scent of meat from the basket was getting close to overwhelming. Steak, from what it smelled like. “She’s fantastic, and the sprogs love her, and even better, listen to her,” she paused. “That’s enough about me. If you ever need food for a party or dinner, my phone number and price list is in the basket.”

      “I’ve heard great things about your food.” Elizabeth said.

      Emma stared. “Was it Mike Jenkins?”

      “No.” Might not be the moment for this, but who knew? “It was Dixie.” She went on in the face of Emma’s shock. “Dixie LePage.”

      “You know her!”

      Elizabeth tamped down the guilt at causing shock to a pregnant woman. “I met her in the US, by chance as it happened.” That much was true. “We got talking, and she mentioned she had a house in the south of England she was trying to sell. I knew Antonia was looking for somewhere near here, so here we are. She told us a lot about Bringham and mentioned several names, including yours.” Hopefully prolonged shock wasn’t harmful to pregnant women.

      “I’ll be blowed!” Emma let out a little gasp. “You’re American too, aren’t you?” At Elizabeth’s nod, Emma went on. “Talk about a small world. I’ve so many questions to ask, I don’t honestly know where to start but…Is she alright?”

      More than alright, but Emma didn’t need to know all that. “Fine. She’s living in Ohio and running her own business. Gave us a lot of helpful information about Bringham. I got the impression she had mixed feelings about selling, this being family property.”

      Emma jumped right on the hint. “I’m not surprised. She loved it here, but after all that happened…” she broke off. “I shouldn’t really gossip, but…”

      “Yes?” Antonia prompted. “She mentioned a spot of bother.”

      Emma rolled her eyes. “‘Spot’ doesn’t begin to describe it. Honest. While she was here, we had the most excitement in Bringham since a German bomber pilot parachuted onto the common back in the middle of World War II.” She paused to take another drink of tea. “In a nutshell, we had arson, murder, a mysterious disappearance, and one of the village worthies going bonkers and accusing himself and half the village of heaven knows what. Some of it turned out to be true. Most of it got written off as lunatic ravings. You wouldn’t believe some of the tales that got out. Witches, vampires…”

      Elizabeth met Antonia’s eyes. They had no trouble believing. “All settled down now though?” Antonia asked.

      Emma nodded. “Pretty much. Did cause a lot of upheaval though. Disturbed a few lives. My neighbor Sally moved after Sebastian, the solicitor who went loony, accused her and a number of others of helping to murder someone. Nothing was ever proven, but it was a nine days’ wonder while it lasted.”

      “I bet it was,” Elizabeth said. “Anything interesting happened since then?”

      “Not much,” Emma replied. “One of the school teachers broke her leg on the ice last winter; there was a big debate over the new sign in front of the Barley Mow, and a couple of people claimed to have seen the Surrey puma.”

      “The Surrey puma?” Antonia asked.

      Emma laughed. “Our local big wildcat. Frankly, I think it’s a stray dog or sheep. Heck, it’s been seen at intervals since my mum was a girl. I doubt pumas in the wild live that long. Every so often, someone sees a stray dog or a sheep, usually at dusk when visibility is poor, and Bob’s your uncle, everyone digs up the old stories, and off we go again.” She stood up. “I must go. Only popped over to say hello. Enjoy what’s in the basket.”

      “Thanks for the goodies,” Elizabeth said. “They really are welcome.” More than this mortal could ever guess.

      “Enjoy. It’s really just a not too subtle way of pushing my wares. Oh, is it true you’re opening a craft market and center here?”

      “Yes. We plan to open in September and be in full swing for Christmas. We’re going to be selective, but if you know any local artists or craftspeople who might be interested, spread the word.”

      “I will.” She frowned as if thinking. “The vicar’s mother-in-law does watercolors of kittens and puppies, but I don’t think they’re the sort of thing you’re after.” Antonia tactfully nodded. Emma went on, “There’s the Misses Black. Old, old ladies—one’s almost blind, but they do knitting. Some of it is beautiful. And you might want to contact Michael Langton. His stuff has been in galleries and shows in Town.”

      “A painter?” Antonia asked, not recognizing the name.

      “A potter. Lives out on the edge of the common. A bit of a recluse, but he does make beautiful stuff. Someone gave us one of his lamps as a wedding present.”

      “We’ll check him out,” Elizabeth said.

      “Bye.”

      As the door closed on Emma, Elizabeth made a pounce for the basket. A baguette filled with slices of rare steak and a packet of chicken goujons disappeared as she wolfed them down. “Sorry,” she said, wiping her mouth on one of the neatly folded napkins tucked in the side of the basket. “The smell was driving me crazy. Hadn’t realized how much I needed food.”

      Antonia