The Trouble With Emma. Katie Oliver

put his tray of olive savoury tarts aside and wiped his hands on a cloth. “No problem.” He went to a safe in the corner and withdrew a zippered bank bag. He counted out five, ten, and twenty pound notes into her hand. “There you are. Put the note under the till drawer, I’ll settle it up later when we cash out.”

      “Thanks.”

      When she returned, her customer was just sliding his phone back into his pocket. “Here we are,” she announced, and handed him his change. “Can I get you anything else?”

      “Not a thing.” He thrust the wad of notes in his wallet and returned it to his back pocket. “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.”

      With a gallant bow and another smile, he picked up his box, made his way to the door, and clanged out of the shop.

Chapter 10

      When it was time to cash the till out at two-thirty, Emma came up twenty pounds short.

      “Oh, no,” she exclaimed, and looked at Boz in dismay. “Perhaps I made a mistake.”

      But after he counted out the cash against the day’s receipts a second time, the result was the same – they were exactly twenty pounds short.

      “You either gave someone too much change,” Boz said, and shrugged, “or two bills stuck together. No matter – it happens sometimes.”

      “Of course you’ll take it out of my pay,” Emma told him firmly. “It’s my fault, after all.”

      “No. It’s an honest mistake, Em, and one we’ve all made at one time or another.” Boz shut the cash drawer. “Just be careful in the future when you make change, and make sure the new notes don’t stick together.”

      “I will do, I promise.” Guiltily, Emma remembered her distraction while waiting on the man in the bespoke suit. She’d forgotten to mention the coconut-toasted doughnuts, had barely been able to string a sentence together, and in the face of his engaging personality had quite lost the thread of what she was doing. “I’m so sorry.”

      “Don’t worry about it, love.” He smiled. “Help me and Viv clean up the kitchen, and then you’re free to go. And grab a couple of cream horns for your dad on the way out.”

      ***

      “So, tell me – how was your first day at the bakery?” Mr Bennet asked an hour later as he and Emma shared a cup of tea and cream horns at the kitchen table.

      “Fine, until it was time to cash out.”

      She told him about coming up twenty pounds short. “The notes Boz gave me were new,” she finished morosely, “and two of the twenties must’ve stuck together when I gave my customer his change.”

      Mr Bennet nodded. “Perhaps he’ll notice, and come back?”

      “I doubt it. Not that I think he’d deliberately keep the money – he certainly didn’t seem to need it,” Emma added. “But he didn’t even glance at the notes before he put them away in his wallet.”

      “File it away under ‘lessons learned’, and be more careful in future,” her father advised. “Perhaps,” he added thoughtfully as he picked up his pastry, “I’ll bake Boz some scones to show my appreciation.”

      “Daddy, he bakes dozens of scones every day.”

      “Oh. Yes.” He looked deflated. “No use carrying coals to Newcastle, I suppose.”

      She leaned forward and laid her hand on his. “Why don’t you make some for us? And we’ll need a couple of dozen more for Lizzy’s party, too.”

      “Right you are.” He set his cup down with a purposeful click. “Of course everyone will want scones.” He reached out for the pad of paper and pencil by the sugar bowl and drew it forward. “Hmmm…what do you think, Emma? A dozen savoury, and a dozen sweet?”

      ***

      Martine arrived at Litchfield Manor at eight o’clock the following morning, just as Emma attached the lead to Elton’s collar to take him for a walk.

      “Off for a stroll outside with Miss Em, are you, Mr E?” the girl asked, and set her purse aside to kneel down to pet and coo over the dog.

      “It’s stopped raining and the sun’s out,” Emma said. “We’re taking advantage of it while it lasts.”

      She eyed Martine’s leggings and faded Rolling Stones T-shirt with a barely concealed shudder and reminded herself to start on her makeover, and soon. The girl was in desperate need of an intervention.

      “Mum says she’ll make the curtains for you,” Martine said as she straightened and turned to Emma. “But she won’t hear of you payin’ her for it.”

      “I won’t hear of not paying her,” Emma said firmly. “We’ll talk about it when I get back. Oh,” she added as she opened the back door, “I have a few things for you to try on before you go.”

      “For me?” Martine looked doubtful. “I don’t know –”

      “It shouldn’t take long.” Emma’s words were brisk. “I have the most adorable trackies – bright pink, if you can imagine!” She grimaced. “They don’t suit me in the least, but I think they’ll look very well on you.” She eyed the girl’s leggings, faded from black to grey after numerous washings. “A proper tracksuit is always a good thing to have.”

      “If you say so,” Martine sighed. “I’ll be here.”

      “You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” Emma observed with a frown. “If you don’t really want them…”

      “Of course I do!” the girl assured her. “Don’t be silly.” She managed a convincing smile. “After all, I owe you, Miss Em, more than I could ever repay,” she added earnestly. “You saved my life after dad died. I’ll never forget it. I don’t know what I’d of done without you.”

      Emma returned her smile. “I only did what anyone would’ve.” Her smile faded. “Losing a parent is hard, the hardest thing in the world. I know that only too well.”

      Martine nodded and swallowed back the lump that rose in her throat. “I know you do. We all miss your mum.”

      “Thanks. And we all miss Mr Davies. Right,” Emma said briskly, “I’d best get a move on. I’ll see you back here in –” she consulted her wristwatch. “An hour.”

      Emma and Elton set out on their walk and headed down the road to Litchfield. Hedgerows crowded in on either side of them, leaves still glistening with water, and the ground was soggy beneath their feet. But the sun was shining and the rain had stopped, and that was enough.

      Litchfield teemed with the usual mix of tourists and locals as she and Elton made their way down the high street. She paused to let the dog take a wee. Although Emma saw a couple of neighbours and lifted her hand to wave, there was thankfully no sign of Mrs Cusack or her clever, hat-designing niece.

      You’re not being fair, she scolded herself. You don’t even know Isabella. You’re just – admit it! – a tiny bit jealous. Still – there was something about the girl, a vague air of secretiveness that struck her straight away.

      Isabella Fairfax was keeping something back, she was sure of it.

      Elton finished his wee, and they resumed their walk. The shop windows boasted ‘end-of-season SALE’ and ‘half off!’ signs as the swimsuits and beach totes, the cheap plastic sunglasses and flip-flops were cleared out to make way for the autumn inventory. It wouldn’t be long before the first chill invaded the air and leaves rimed with frost crunched beneath their feet.

      But for now, the sun was warm and the sky was blue and cloudless – it was a perfect late-summer