Yours Truly (39 page)

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Authors: Kirsty Greenwood

BOOK: Yours Truly
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Ooh, this sounds interesting. Who is he talking about?


That idiot wasn't supposed to...

Who is he talking about? I listen more closely.


...Yes, well now we're going to have to go on with Plan B. But that means that we cannot afford for anyone to find out. I know. Dionne...

Did he just say Dionne? Or is he talking
to
Dionne? And what does she have to do with Jasper and Riley? I can't hear properly. It's not clear enough. I sigh in frustration. What is he saying? I read somewhere once that one's senses are more powerful when other senses are compromised. So I compromise my sight by squeezing my eyes tightly shut, and my smell, by holding my nose. Then I press my ear up even closer to the door. I knew there was something fishy about Jasper Hobbs.


I've just hidden it. He won't be coming back...

Oh my gosh! Who won't be coming back? What is he planning? What did he hide?

I jump out of my skin when someone stands right behind me and does a gentle cough.

Ballbags!

I cry frightfully.

My shriek echoes around the gigantic building.

Ballbags, ballbags, ballbags.

I turn around and see a tall thin old man with a long white beard, dressed in a maroon smoking jacket and slacks. He looks like Dumbledore! Maybe this is the butler.


Hello dear. Welcome to my home. Who are you and how can I help you?

He raises an eyebrow suspiciously.

Oh God
. This isn't a butler. This is the reclusive, mega rich Alfred Hobbs. The man in charge of all the Hobbs bread in the world! I don't get time to ponder what it must be like to have access to all that bread because his question sparks off
the truth-
telling
-


Hello. Yes, I think you can help me. I'm looking for my friend, Meg. She should be here recording music with your son, um Jasper. I'm Natalie and I'm having the worst week of my entire life.

Alfred chuckles and holds out his hand.

I'm Alfred Hobbs, dear.

As he touches my hand he shivers.

My my! You're colder than a witch’s tit!

I blink. Did he just say witch’s...
tit?


What on earth have you been doing?

he continues, frowning.


I've walked up from The Old Whimsy.


Dear child, you'll catch your death. Come to the den. The fire is alight. I'll prepare us some tea and then we can address your problem.

I nod emphatically, quite scared to disagree with this imposing and eccentric looking old man.

At that very moment Jasper appears
.


Father,

he says irritably.

What are you doing now? I thought I told you…

He stops abruptly when he spots me and arranges his face into an expression less annoyed.


Natalie Butterworth!

he says kissing me on each cheek.

Whatever brings you here?

He scratches his perfectly straight nose.


I'm looking for Meg,

I answer.


Yes, of course. Meg's not here, I'm afraid.


Oh!

I say.

But she told me she was coming here to record some music?


Yes she was. Robbie came for her about an hour ago.

Robbie? Oh yes. I totally forgot. She said
she was going to Jam with him.


How long have you been here?

he asks, coughing. He looks twitchy.


Long enough to hear you talking on the phone, though I didn't hear everything you said.

Oh gosh, how embarrassing. Stupid
truth-
telling. I can't hide anything! Jasper frowns for a moment before snapping himself out of it.


I'm sorry for your trouble. I can walk you back if you'd like?


Nonsense,

Alfred Hobbs hollers.

The girl will not be going back out into the cold until at least she's had a cup of tea.

Jasper nods reluctantly.

Yes...
yes, I suppose you're right, father.


Take her to the den, Jasper. I shall prepare the tea.

Jasper sighs before gesturing that I should follow him back across the hall and into what must be the den. It's another huge room with high ceilings; den isn't really appropriate for it, though. It's still completely grand. The sofas are old and worn, but clearly expensive. Hanging from the ceiling is a gigantic antique crystal chandelier. Completely at odds with the fifty billion inch wide screen telly set up in the corner. At the centre of the room is a huge fireplace, with a fire blazing brightly inside the hearth, I head straight for it.


I'm freezing!

I explain. Kneeling in front of the fire and putting out my hands to warm them. Jasper doesn't answer. After a few moments he comes up close behind me. He's so close that I can feel the heat of his breath on the back of my neck. I shudder and move away. Talk about invasion of personal space!


What
exactly
did you hear out there?

he says, running a tanned hand through his foppish black hair.

Jeez. Paranoid or what! But of course the
truth-tell
ing does its work.


I heard you say that you'd hidden somethin
g and that you wanted to go to P
lan B. Did you mention my sister's name? I'm sure I heard you say Dionne. You sounded angry.


You are mistaken.

He swallows hard.

It's bad manners to listen in on other people's private conversations.

I lower my eyes, ashamed. He's right. Ear wigging is totally bad manners.


My father would like you to stay for a cup of tea, but as soon as you are done I will walk you back to the village. In the meantime, I would quite appreciate it if you didn't mention anything about business.

I raise my eyebrows questioningly. Why the bloody hell would I talk to Alfred Hobbs about business?

Jasper huffs.

I mean about the business with The Old Whimsy. I prefer not to bother him with small troubles.

His tone is abrupt.

There's no reason why it should unsettle me, it's not like he's really a baddie or anything, but he definitely makes me feel uncomfortable.


Tea!

Alfred Hobbs announces, hobbling in and carrying a silver tray through into the den.


Let me know when you are done and I shall take you back,

Jasper says, not quite looking me in the eye.


You're not staying for tea?

Mr Hobbs asks his son.

But we have a guest, Jasper.


I'm busy, father.

And with that he walks out of the room.

Okay, this is weird. This is one weird arse village.

Mr Hobbs carefully pours out the tea into two delicate white china teacups. There's no milk or sugar on the tray. Maybe this is how posh people have their tea.


Thank you.

I smile at him as he hands over a cup.

Taking a sip, I try my best to hide the splutter that follows. This tea has got brandy in it!

I cough, my cheeks burning with the heat of the alcohol.

Alfred Hobbs chuckles.

A little medicinal brandy to prevent a cold, dear.

I smile weakly. He watches, nodding at me to take another sip. I'm too polite not to. Ick.


Please excuse my son's behaviour,

Alfred says, handing me a
n
icing sugar dusted chocolate from a little glass bowl on a side table by his armchair.

C
hampagne truffle -
my favourite. He's a busy man. I'm sure he doesn't mean to be impolite.


Oh, it's okay. I understand.

Alfred smiles.


So you're young Megan's friend then, her mentally unwell friend?

I almost choke.

No. Not mentally ill. But yes Megan's - Meg's friend.


Dear girl. Very pretty.

I smile.

Yes. Gorgeous, and lovely with it.

Alfred sips from his own tea and sighs with pleasure.

And you! You are less...
gorgeous. And far more beautiful. What a wonderful plump mouth you have!


Um - thank you,

I say, fighting the urge to laugh. Of course I don't tell him about the accidental lip injections. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't understand.


Yes, yes,

he says, slowly looking over my face as if I'm a painting to be studied.

You remind me of an old love of mine. Mary was her name.

Mary? As in Riley's mother Mary?


Are you talking about Mary Harrington?

I ask.


Well yes, dear, I am! You have the same... kindness about you as she did. Serenity. An inner radiance.

Me? Serene? Radiant. Gosh this man is nuts. Sweet, and very good with the flattery, but totally nuts.


So you were friends with Mary, then?


Friends? Oh we were more than friends. My dear, we were at it like rabbits!

I choke again. Drinking tea around this man is a constant choking hazard. I put down the cup.


That sounds...
fun.

Alfred chuckles, topping up my tea cup and handing me another chocolate.


Oh, it was such a lot of fun. Just a shame it had to end.

What? He was having an affair with Riley's mother before she died? Wow.


I'm sorry for your loss,

I say, patting him sympathetically on the arm.


Oh you are an adorable creature,

he drawls.

But rather mistaken. My dalliance with Mary ended long before that. Edna made quite sure of it.

Edna? I'm sure I know of an Edna. I rifle through my brain trying to place the name.

Edna. I have a flashback to the barn dance. Edna is what Riley was calling Mrs Grimes!


You mean Mrs Grimes?

Alfred nods.


Oh gosh, that makes her sound ever so old. But I suppose you would know her as Mrs Grimes. Yes, I was also having a rendezvous with her. They were both such beautiful women but in such different ways. I could hardly choose between them.

He shrugs, his blue eyes twinkling. He's handsome for an old guy. I can imagine him playing the womaniser as a lad.


It was quite the scandal. But then we were quite a scandalous group of friends.

Friends? I ask intrigued.


Edna and I, Mary Harrington, her brother Alan, Barney and Morag and Joe...

He looks off into the distance as if remembering some cracking nights out.

Man alive! Talking to Alfred Hobbs is better than an episode of
Eastenders
!

Needing to zone out for a bit, enjoying the heat of the fire and the heat of the brandy and Alfred's company, I lean back into my chair and tuck my cold feet up underneath me.

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