The Sweetness of Liberty James (24 page)

‘Yes, of course,' replied Liberty meekly. ‘Well, Jonathan, you had better let me see a copy of the tenancy agreement. We should keep things formal, and above board. And please let me have Savannah's email address,' she yelled over her shoulder as her mother propelled her down the chilly corridor back to the car.

‘And you call me rude! You hypocrite!' she admonished her mother as they crawled down the drive, unable to see much through a frozen windscreen (Liberty was too cold to wait for the windscreen to defrost before setting off).

‘I promise you, you don't want him starting on his eco ramble at this time of night,' replied Deirdre, her eyes hazy, ‘especially not after a few drinks.'

20

Liberty smiled to herself in her bathroom mirror as she prepared for bed. She had seen the way Jonathan gazed at her mother, and wondered if there had ever been anything between them. Although Deirdre had been devastated by her divorce, she had enjoyed several flings since, only to end them when things grew serious. She had told Liberty that all she really missed was someone to go to parties with or out to dinner. It was very hard to be on your own after years of marriage and to walk into a room of people without someone at your side; even if you didn't see them for the rest of the evening, it was nice to know there was someone there who could catch your eye and smile – or laugh when they saw you were stuck with a bore. Liberty hoped her mother could find someone, but knew she had never really got over her love for Alain.

She mused about her own life; would she ever be brave enough to enter into a new relationship? She had made such a mess of the last one, she doubted if she would trust her judgement again, and Percy had been her only man since her late teens.
I'd better concentrate on getting the business up and running rather than on men
, Liberty thought to herself. She happily climbed into bed, to dream of vast steaming lines of freshly baked bread and pastries being eaten by happy customers, who thankfully this time did not turn into an angry Percy bearing down on her, as had happened in some fearsome nightmares recently.

Of course, life never takes the path you expect. The next day Liberty went over to the old butcher's to meet a shopfitter and joiner she had contacted through Jonathan. He was going to
put in shelves and cupboards along the sides of the room in the style of old dressers, and she wanted to get some measurements of the kitchen and check what, if any, of the existing equipment she could use. While she was fumbling with icy fingers for the key Jonathan had given her, a deep voice with a strong southern Irish accent queried, ‘Liberty James?'

With those two words Fred Townsend made her name sound like the sexiest thing on earth, a bit like butter melting over the edge of a hot crumpet. Liberty turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, blue-eyed Adonis standing behind her. Despite the cold of the morning he was wearing a light T-shirt and jeans, albeit with a pair of heavy hobnailed boots.
Crumpet indeed!
she thought with a giggle.

‘Yes?' said Liberty, blushing furiously as she realised she had been staring at his chest, which bulged with muscle in an attractive, healthy sort of way. Fred's blue eyes twinkled; he was fully aware of the effect he had on most women, and thrilled that this beauty was not immune to his charms.

‘I'm Fred,' he said by way of introduction.

‘I thought I was meeting a Malcolm Nesbitt?' queried Liberty.

‘Not sure who he is, but I'm the local blacksmith and farrier. Mr de Weatherby said you would be wanting a new sign for the shop. I was checking out his hunters yesterday, and I have a quiet week. So I thought I would pop up and see if you might be interested.'

‘Well, yes, I suppose so, no time like the present. I was going to get everything else sorted first, but we may as well be prepared, and if you really are free at the moment . . .'

Just then a small man in dusty overalls clambered out of a red van. ‘Ah, that must be Malcolm now. Look, I really need to concentrate on how to fit out the shop today. Why don't you let me know where you work, and I'll call you later?' Liberty suggested. She was also thinking she could put on some makeup and tidy her hair before seeing him again. Her thick Puffa jacket and furry hat with ear flaps was not the best outfit, really.
Fred gave her directions, which made her feel silly, as he simply pointed to the other side of the green and said ‘That cottage with FORGE and BLACKSMITH and all the hanging baskets outside' and with a ravishing smile said he looked forward to seeing her again, adding, ‘If you think you can find me!' Feeling like an idiot – how could she have not known there was a forge in the village? – she watched him amble casually over the grass with admiration, before remembering the man patiently waiting beside her.

While Malcolm Nesbitt was not such a beauty to look at, he was a master carpenter, and Liberty spent a useful morning deciding on shelving and display units that would eventually look as though they had been there forever. Malcolm had fabulous ideas of his own, suggesting her cakes should be displayed on shelving looking like a cross between an old pharmacy and a French patisserie, that there should be lots of dark wood and glass, with shelves to hold large glass containers full of biscuits for coffee, home-made marshmallows in pretty colours, and the candied fruits dipped in chocolate that Liberty planned to sell. He also came up with the idea of deep drawers in the cupboards for easy access to plates, cups and saucers and teapots. And he made sure she knew to send dimensions of cafetières and chocolate pots so he could accommodate those.

Did she need tables and chairs? He knew of a great barn in a nearby village where lots of unmatched chairs, tables and other bits and bobs were collected together, all of very good quality, usually from house clearance sales, and he could repair anything. Liberty thought this style would go well with her theme of vintage French, and took the address down. She also needed to find a good source of vintage china, pretty coffee and teacups and large platters for serving food, along with cake stands. Malcolm gave her the number of a dealer in West Sussex, who specialised in the growing market of ‘shabby chic'. He knew they bought up lots of pretty vintage teacups and saucers, but warned that prices these days were always high. Liberty knew
she had to be practical; if her father's experience was anything to go by, lots of the china would be disappearing with the customers, but she wanted things to be pretty and just right. He suggested she trawl all the second-hand shops in the area and get a mismatched selection. He was very useful, knowledgeable, and deferential enough to be easy to work with. Liberty was happy to give him a deposit, after agreeing on a price and letting him start as soon as possible.

She walked back to collect her car and drove the few miles to Flatfield to look at the chairs. She found the barn easily, which was situated off the road leading to the little village, as a large board was placed by the side of the road: ‘Antiques, secondhand furniture and more! By appointment.' She bumped down the un-surfaced driveway and peered up at the old wooden barn, with its beautiful peg tile roof. Only one little door, carved into the much bigger double doors which once let the animals in, gave any indication that this was anything but a large cowshed.

I don't have an appointment, maybe I should get one
, Liberty thought, as it looked a little intimidating. She phoned the number on the board and told the gruff voice on the other end she was looking for several tables and lots of chairs, and could she make an appointment for that morning?

‘I suppose. What time?' came the rude reply.

‘I'm outside. So now?'

A long sigh, and then, ‘I'll meet you at the door.' Down went the receiver.

‘Oh well, it's worth a look.' Liberty parked a little nervously. The large woman who opened the door looked at her as though they had never spoken. ‘Yes?' she asked.

‘Liberty James. We just chatted on the phone.' Although ‘chatting' was hardly the word to describe their brief exchange, Liberty was determined to be friendly. ‘Can I come in and have a look round?'

‘Come in, then. It's really my husband's place, but he's not here,' said the woman. ‘I don't know prices and what else he has
apart from what's out here, but have a look.' And with that she locked the door behind Liberty and walked as fast as her fat legs could carry her back to what Liberty assumed was the private accommodation. Grateful to be left alone, if a little alarmed at being shut in, Liberty gazed around the vast room, which was thankfully well lit, as there were no windows. Crammed to the corners with furniture, it was a fabulous display of different styles, ages and woods. There were hundreds of chairs, numerous benches and decorative pews, and many tables varying in size – highly polished or waxed and obviously lovingly maintained and restored. There were some heavy oak carver chairs which Liberty instantly wanted, but for her own home, and a massive oak table, made seemingly from one huge piece of wood in an arts and crafts style she would love as a kitchen table; it reminded her of a small version of the one at Denhelm. She wandered about, squeezing between tables, making notes and taking measurements. If the prices were right, she would have no problem finding everything she wanted right here, but only if Mrs Gruff and Grumpy's husband returned. And how was she going to get out?

Having had a really good look around, she tentatively called out, ‘I'll be off, then,' and tried to open the door. No key, and definitely locked.
Great
, she thought,
what have I got myself into now? Just when I thought I had found a complete poppet with Malcolm, he sends me down the road to slave traders about to box me up with furniture and ship me off to Africa to end my days serving as mistress to some war lord. OK, calm down, imagination. I shall sit and wait a while
.

Just then a key was placed in the lock from the outside, and a very jolly looking man entered. No one would have put them together as husband and wife. She was large, lumbering and downright rude; he, tall, willowy with smile lines firmly engraved down his face, which he was demonstrating well now, beaming at Liberty.

‘Hello! What have we here? Come to look at my etchings?' With that he burst into laughter and winked at her.

‘I thought I might have the wrong end of the stick – your wife didn't . . .'

Philip Buffington, passionate furniture restorer and collector, stopped her there. ‘Ah, yes, Decca has never shown much of an interest, and poor thing hates intrusions, shall we say? Or could I just be honest and tell you she thinks she wasted her life on a promising young doctor who turned to his hobby to earn little but satisfying money. She can't understand why I won't sell to anyone who doesn't appreciate what they are buying.' (
Hence the vast stock
, thought Liberty). ‘Anyway, enough about me; you must be Miss James. Malcolm rang and said you may be popping in, but unfortunately I was already at a house sale. Complete waste of time, I might add, so had to leave you to look around and remain in Decca's capable hands.'

They were both laughing now, Liberty feeling very much at ease. She explained to him that she was in the process of taking on the tenancy of the old butcher's in Littlehurst, and also hoping to buy Duck End, the beautiful house next door. Both of which would need furnishing.

His eyes lit up. ‘Righty-ho, but first things first – I'm freezing!'

Soon after they were wandering around the barn with steaming cups of terrible but toe-warming coffee, while Philip pointed out pieces here and there. Liberty was getting very excited; she needed small but sturdy chairs and tables for the café but most importantly, the tables must not wobble and the chairs must be comfortable, or could be made so with cushions.

She had already put stickers on a Windsor chair for her kitchen and a high-backed settle for her hall. Philip promised he would look at some smaller things at auctions he was going to over the next few weeks. If he found anything, he would call her and she could decide whether he should bid.

He reminded her of Lovejoy, getting through life by the skin of his teeth, charming his way out of corners and no doubt
debts too. She gave him a page of her diary with her mobile phone number scribbled down. ‘Let me know, but I will call you anyway when I have signed the contracts. Duck End will be lots of fun to furnish, but I have promised myself not to be too disappointed if I don't get it.'

He replied with a wink that was obviously second nature. ‘Don't you worry, my lovely, those stickers will stay until your call. I think those pieces will be happy with your bottom on them!' With that, her faith in human nature firmly restored, she bid him goodbye and returned to her car.

21

The next few weeks were a whirl of tenancy documents, sawdust, and flying around the county looking at furniture, china and linens. Liberty was thrilled with Malcolm's work. He had tongued and grooved the walls, to be painted in soft colours. The café looked rustic and the woodwork went well with the beams, which were now sandblasted back to the bare wood, making the room lighter.

Deirdre was planning a party to welcome Liberty officially to the village. She knew from having a check-up at Dr Brown's that Miss Scally's tongue and imagination had been at work. Gossip was whirling that Liberty had returned after abandoning her poor husband and varying amounts of children after some scandal at Radley Bank. This all started after a small piece in the back of the business section of
The Sunday Telegraph
. (Miss Scally obviously had little more to do on a Sunday than read the papers backwards, even the bits that most people put straight in the recycling.) The piece claimed that established private Radley Bank had decided to close its Berlin office now that Percy Cholmondly-Radley had taken over as managing director and had decided the bank was over-extended. Nothing more, nothing less, but Miss Scally and Paul at the tea room were convinced between them it must mean he had to cut his working hours after being deserted by his wife. Had they only looked within the society pages of the same Sunday paper, they might have thought it was really because Percy was spending more time in the casinos of Vegas and Monte Carlo with one girl after another, and had decided work could take a back seat. At the
same time as he was awarded his managing directorship, Percy was having something of a mid-life crisis.