She Hates Me Not: A Richer in Love Romance (9 page)

Moggie and Beryl would understand.  Maybe.  Both women loved her, but neither believed Lou was in as much danger as she feared.  Was she overreacting?  Or should she keep honoring the wise voice from within that counseled her to live cautiously?  Intuition was a gift, not a sin.

And now it was telling Lou to stay put in spite of her fears.  She could always moor the Evangeline in a more remote spot and walk a little farther to work.  She wasn’t eager to leave Stratford.  She wasn’t ready to abandon Kip.  His confidence dissolved her qualms.  His perseverance stirred her faith.

If she couldn’t flee, then she’d kneel and pray.  Grabbing a pillow from the couch, Lou arranged it in front of the table.  She propped her elbows on the hard surface and tightly shut her eyes.

What should she pray for?  Safety?  Endurance?  For trust that all this would end well?

Lost for words, Lou borrowed the ones she had loved since she first learned to recite them. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou amongst women…”

A
s he knocked on the shuttered front door of Imogens Café, Kip held his breath while he waited for a response.

All the way back to the willow tree, he’d prayed the easels would still be there.  They were – along with the picnic hamper and the wine and folded quilt.  All of it provided the ideal excuse to be inexcusably cheeky.

It was either this or spend a stir-crazy afternoon chewing pen caps to bits in his hotel room.  Traipsing around Stratford without Lou beside him held absolutely no appeal.  Until he returned to London, everything he did would feel inadequate and lacking.  He wondered if that sense of absence would follow him home.  If it did, he would need a solution.  Courting Lou was the obvious choice.

When a shape pushed through the slate-blue curtain, Kip tried to look apologetic while he determined who’d come to open the door.  It appeared to be Beryl.  Not his best option.  If Moggie was an ally, then Beryl was undecided, and mere charm would work on neither.

Both women were his mother’s age, if Kip had to guess, and Beryl was her polar opposite in every possible way.  Her loose limbs swayed as she sashayed through the room with no urgency or agenda.  Beryl’s long hair resembled, more than a little, the willow tree’s cascading leaves.  She seemed as nurturing and supple as his mother was not.

She was also less than pleased to see him when she opened the door.  Kip spoke first to avoid any confusion.

“Sorry.  Just thought I’d return these since they hadn’t been collected.”  He jerked his head toward the easels hanging from his right shoulder.

“How very kind of you.”  As Beryl took the quilt and picnic hamper, the aroma of patchouli wafted around her.

“It’s the least I could do.”

“Is it?”  She motioned toward the back half of the café.  “What’s the most?”

Adjusting the easels, he followed.  “Sorry?”

“What most could you do?”  Beryl held the curtain for him.  “The basin in the men’s loo is playing up.  How are your DIY skills?”

“They’re rubbish.  I’d only make things worse.”

“That’s what concerns me,” she replied as he passed.

Beryl directed Kip up a narrow staircase into a first-floor flat with two distinct rooms.  They entered a lounge that also served as an art studio and kitchenette.  It was clean, if not orderly, and homey, if not well-appointed.  A stick of incense smoldered near the window, and piano music trickled faintly from an unseen speaker.

While Kip set the easels where Beryl instructed, Moggie emerged from a bedroom, its doorway partitioned by a green drape embellished with sequins and thread.  Her clothing was more pragmatic than Beryl’s – cotton t-shirt, black trousers, plain grey trainers.

A pair of present-day gipsies, these two.  Some part of Kip envied their unsculpted lifestyle.  He’d lived buttoned-up since childhood.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Moggie offered.

“If it’s no trouble,” he said.  “I wouldn’t wish to impose.”

“Not at all.”  She reinforced the comment with a pointed glance at Beryl.  “I’ll put the kettle on.”

Moggie gestured to a white wicker chair that sat cattycorner to a futon.  Handmade quilts and pillows layered both.  Although none of them matched, their cheery colors did complement.

Beryl settled onto the futon and fixed her expectant, if cordial, attention on Kip.

He suspected his palms might be sweating.  Never – not once – had he bothered to meet the parents of any woman he’d dated.  Not even Catrella’s who lived somewhere in Kent.  His university girlfriends had been little more than flings, although several did their utmost to change that.

He couldn’t meet Lou’s parents either.  Her mother had passed on.  Her father was an ocean away.  Even so, Kip realized he might be sitting down with the next best option.  Lou was unquestionably her own person.  She was also much more than an employee to the women who now measured him with their stares.

Glancing around, Kip gripped the chair’s armrests with his damp hands.  He hoped they wouldn’t leave a mark.  “You have a lovely home.”

Both women simply gazed back.  Moggie’s faint smile was serene.  Beryl’s contained no amusement.

Kip wished they would ask a question.  Any question.  About anything.  “Lou told me how she came to work here.  It was very kind of you to take her on.”

“Her mother was like a sister to me.”  Moggie stood when the kettle clicked off.  “And Lou’s been a blessing to us.”

“She’s quite like a daughter,” Beryl added.

“She’s brilliant,” Kip asserted.  “Unlike any girl I’ve met.”

Beryl raised a single eyebrow.  “I imagine you’ve met your share.”

Kip winced.  There it was.  His reputation preceded him – and never to his advantage.

Much as he wanted to rise to his own defense, it rarely made a difference.  Actions did speak louder than words, and pictures of those actions were worth thousands.  People believed what they saw whether or not it was true.

“I have,” he confessed.  “But not any like Lou.  And I don’t expect to again.”

“Just how many more women do you plan to meet?”

Hesitating, Kip considered how much he should share.  He knew he was impulsive and easily bored, as his brother liked to remind him.  But London was usually enough of a cure, and Kip might have returned there already.

Lou wasn’t a convenient diversion.  Or a victory he need to earn.  What he’d felt for her since the gala unnerved him.  Unnerved and thrilled and inspired.  It matched nothing he felt for anyone else, and he refused to dismiss it as a byproduct of boredom or lust.

Rather than leap outright into professions of love, Kip put one foot on the proverbial ledge.

“None, if Lou will accept me.”

For the first time Beryl softened in his presence.  She looked suspicious but also intrigued.  “Please remind me, how long have you known our Lou?”

“Not long enough,” Kip admitted.  “I suspect it will always be the case.”

That earned him half of a genuine smile.  “You’re surprisingly clever – despite what the papers say.”

Kip grinned.  “My mother would not agree.”

Moggie left the kitchenette to hand him a mug of tea.  “Is there something you’d like to ask us?”

Taking it, Kip thanked her while she fetched other mugs for herself and Beryl.  He had at least a dozen questions, most of which he should ask Lou directly.  But all were like signposts pointing to one big mystery that, if unraveled, might answer the rest.

“Why is Lou so afraid?  I’ve known people who are shy, but she seems almost…”

“Paranoid?” Moggie finished.

Kip nodded.  While the term was unflattering, it did fit.  “Do either of you know why?”

Their expressions made it clear that they did.  Now it was their turn to engage in a silent battle about how much they ought to reveal.  With glances alone, they waged a debate while Kip waited for his tea to cool.

His phone buzzed its S-O-S in his pocket.  Apologizing, Kip silenced its ringer and resisted a glimpse at its screen.  It did his mother good to wait.  He, on the other hand, indulged his own impatience.

“Is Lou in some sort of trouble?” he pressed.

“She believes that she is,” Moggie answered.

“Believes?” Kip repeated.  “As though it’s a delusion?”

Moggie inhaled audibly, like she might break into song, but it was Beryl who beat her to speaking.

“Oh, go on then.  In for a penny.”  With resignation she sipped her tea.

Settling back onto the futon, Moggie rested her mug on a cushion.  “Has Lou mentioned anything about her father?”

“Very little.  I only know that he still lives in the States.”

“Lived,” Moggie corrected.  “He owned a petrol company based out of New Orleans.  He died a year after Lou’s mother.  He was in prison at the time.”

Kip felt like he’d meandered into an episode of
Coronation Street
.  “What were their names?”

“Robert Aucoin and Penelope Williams.”

“Her mum was better known as one half of the inseparable Penny and Moggie,” Beryl added.  “Their exploits in Sixth Form were legendary.”

Moggie shot her a cautioning glance.  “Keeping on topic, Rob was transferred to London on business in the late 1980s, which is how he and Penny met.  They married, had the girls, and moved to the States while Lou was still a baby.  Rob started his own company in the Nineties, and its success might be described as meteoric.”

“Enough dollars to buy the Queen’s diamonds,” Beryl clarified.

“Eventually Penny grew concerned.  I wasn’t privy to much, but by the time Lou was a teenager, the company was investigated by the U.S. government, and Rob was accused of all sorts of dodgy schemes – tampering with investments, cooking the books – along with the other directors.  Everyone went to court and then prison.  Rob died of a heart attack when Lou was nineteen.” 

Kip gawped as he listened.  Forget
Corrie
.  This was
EastEnders
.  “She never saw him after they moved to London?”

“Only when she flew back to testify.”

“Testify?” Kip repeated.  “Against her own father?”

“Testify to the fact that she had no idea where he might have squirreled away millions of dollars.  No one has ever determined its whereabouts or proven it actually exists.  It’s a modern-day pirate’s treasure that nobody can seem to find.”

“Which leads us – and many others – to call it a myth,” Beryl said.

Moggie affirmed it with a nod.  “Robert fell in with terrible people, but that didn’t make him one.  He wasn’t the sort to do the wrong thing.  He just kept the wrong sort of friends.  Penny always said he was far too inclined to trust people, that he would hope for the best while accepting the worst.  Perhaps he fancied himself a good influence, but he fell farther than the rest in the end.”

“Is Lou ashamed of this?” Kip asked.

“Not ashamed,” Beryl told him.  “But she is frightened.  Before and after Rob died, Lou and her sister received quite a few threatening messages.  Although none seemed to be legitimate, both girls decided it was best to go into hiding.”

“Messages about what?  What did they want?  Restitution?  Revenge?”

“The missing treasure,” Moggie said.  “Whether it’s true or not, Lou is convinced there are unsavory types from the United States still searching for that money.  Some fancy it was a nest egg set aside for the girls.  A few years back there was an incident with Amy which did seem a bit suspicious.”

Kip set his mug on a table next to his chair.  “So Lou and her sister are living stuck in this limbo?”

“Stuck and both very alone.”

“And now her sister is ill,” Kip concluded.

Moggie paused like she thought he’d say more.  “She is.  Lou can’t go and visit her, but they manage to keep in touch.”

Beryl rose to collect Kip’s empty mug.  “I wish something would convince these criminals that the threat has passed.  Then all this madness could be put to bed.”

“It’s hard to disprove what can’t be proven.”  Moggie stood also.

Kip took that as his cue to do the same.  “Maybe someone can find a way.  Thank you for taking care of Lou through all this.  I can’t imagine what it’s been like for her.”

“Few could,” Moggie said.  “Which is why we’re rather protective.  Caring for Lou is our privilege.”

“I’d very much like to join you in that,” he replied.

With cool blue eyes, Moggie studied his face.  “You might be just what she needs.”

Beryl maneuvered between them.  “When do you return to London, Kip?”

“I’m not due back until Wednesday evening.  Of course Lou’s working tomorrow.”  Kip let the comment trail away, hoping they’d make some small offering.  Allow Lou to leave early.  Advocate on his behalf.  Anything that might permit him to spend at least part of the day with her.

Moggie started for the stairs.  “Beryl’s always saying we could use another set of hands.”

Beryl glared at Moggie’s back like she’d said nothing of the sort.  “Hands that know how to work in a café.”

“I did three years at a bistro in Cambridge,” Kip said as he followed Moggie down.  “And one dismal month at a chip shop.  My brother and I had to earn our pub money while we were away at uni.”

Moggie held back the curtain, then opened the side door leading into the alley.  “Who knew Lydia Richmond could be so cruel?”

Kip stepped through it.  “I’m fairly certain everyone does.”

Moggie smiled.  “Sometimes we must be cruel to be kind.”

“Then my mother is the kindest woman on earth.”

“Our Lou doesn’t have a cruel bone in her body.  Do remember that, Kip.”

Surprised by the solemn advice, he just nodded.

“We’ll see you tomorrow morning.  Around seven if you like.”  Tipping her chin in farewell, Moggie closed the door.

Kip turned to examine the passageway.  Another employee from some other shop smoked a fag near its Meer Street entrance.  Two others sat eating at a table, but not the one he and Lou had used.  Despite its limited space and overall disregard, Kip felt like he’d entered a larger world.