Chloe’s Cornish Christmas (The Blossomwood Bay #7)

Chapter Seven

‘Hi, Fran. It’s good to see you again.’

‘Gosh, I barely recognised you, but then it’s been quite a while.’

Chloe wasn’t sure, but she thought she detected a faint hint of reproach in Fran’s voice. Nevertheless, she enveloped Nick in a warm hug before bending down to make a fuss of Mitzy who had greeted her with enthusiasm. With a glossy silver bob, cut sharply to her chin, and a pair of cat’s eyes glasses, Fran exuded vitality. She wore an emerald-green blouse with flamboyantly puffed sleeves, and an eye-catching necklace made from polished grey pebbles, each one featuring a tiny sketch of a cat in various poses. Chloe noticed she also sported a tiny tattoo of a dove on the inside of her left wrist.

‘It’s good to meet you too, Chloe. Welcome to Perrinsby.’

‘Thanks, it’s great to be here.’

‘Hannah, I’ve left your second batch of mince pies on the counter over there. Let me know if you need anything else. I’ve got quite a few more ideas I’d like to try out before Christmas arrives.’

‘Will do, Fran.’

‘So you’re the village baker?’ asked Chloe.

‘Oh, no, no, dear, I own the hair salon next door, have done for the last thirty years. So, if you were thinking of a re-style…’ Chloe cringed when she saw Fran’s eyes flick to her unruly curls that hadn’t seen the inside of a salon for over five months. Sadly, that wouldn’t be changing anytime soon as she didn’t have the funds for such a luxury, especially when she had her car repairs to pay for. ‘…I’m sure I can squeeze you in for a consultation.’

‘Thanks, I’ll bear it in mind.’

‘Fran offers other services, too,’ said Hannah. ‘Apart from hair and pastries.’

‘Nails?’ said Nick.

‘Brow shaping?’ suggested Chloe.

‘No, advice .’ Hannah grinned.

‘What kind of advice?’ asked Chloe.

‘Go on, tell them, Fran.’

Fran smiled at Hannah, her green eyes gentle and filled with kindness for the young woman who was all-but bouncing up and down in her seat like Tigger’s older sister. ‘What Hannah means is that there’s more on our menu than perms, blow dries, and shampoo and sets. We also offer our clients a listening ear, an opportunity to offload their troubles, share their secrets, and, if required, receive the benefit of our wisdom.’

Chloe saw Nick flash her an “I told you so” look and she remembered his comments about preferring the privacy offered by a big city where friends, colleagues and neighbours didn’t engage in what he called “gossip”.

‘Talking is good for the soul. One of my mottos is that “it’s better out than in”. If we keep our problems to ourselves they fester, they expand, and they become insurmountable, or so we might think. No one is immune from life’s ups and downs, and at Fran’s Hair Emporium we’re happy to talk about anything and everything. Nothing is off limits; death, divorce, family estrangements, broken love affairs, unrequited love…’

‘Oh, God, I need to make an urgent appointment,’ Hannah blurted, her cheeks colouring when she realised she’d spoken out loud. ‘Sorry. It’s just that when you mentioned unrequited love…’

‘What’s going on?’ said Fran, her voice filled with concern. ‘I thought you were seeing Alex.’

‘No, that fizzled out a few months ago. He’s dating the receptionist at the vet’s now, which is fine. It was always just a casual thing between us.’ Hannah paused, glancing at Chloe and then Nick, clearly unsure whether to continue with what was obviously a personal matter. After a couple of seconds, she exhaled a long-drawn-out sigh and her shoulders slumped in resignation. ‘It’s Jake.’

‘Jake Willis? Megan’s brother?’

‘Yes. We’ve known each other since me and Megan bonded over our mutual love of the Hunger Games books on our first day at high school. He was always just Megan’s sport-obsessed “big brother” until two months ago when we were all at a Hallowe’en party over in Farnleigh. We’d had a few ciders and one thing led to another, and at the end of the night we… well, we sort of kissed. I haven’t said anything to Megan, but the more I think about it – and believe me, I’ve been thinking about it a lot – the more certain I am that… well, that I have feelings for him.’

‘Oh, Hannah, darling…’

‘The thing is, he hasn’t mentioned what happened since, and when I see him, it’s obvious that he still just thinks of me as his little sister’s BFF, with pigtails and braces and an unhealthy obsession with Taylor Swift. I need to do something to make him realise that I’m not nine, I’m nine teen , but nothing I’ve tried so far has worked; he still treats me like he always has.’

‘You just need to give it time.’

‘That’s the thing, though. I don’t have time. He’s heading off to India in the new year on a volunteer abroad programme that involves backpacking from Mumbai to Goa, stopping off at various community sports projects along the way to help with any physio issues they might have. I know, I just know , that he’ll meet someone while he’s over there and he’ll either stay there or she’ll come back with him, and I’ll have lost him forever.’

‘Why don’t you go with him?’ asked Nick, ever the practical one.

‘Because Mum needs me here. Since Dad died last year, we’ve shared the management of the Bookworm Boutique , and she’s supported every single one of my ideas, no matter how out-there they are. Working side-by-side, surrounded by all these wonderful stories, has helped us both to deal with our grief, and reminded us to focus on the future instead of the past. I love Mum. I can’t just abandon her – and my responsibilities at the bookshop – to go gallivanting around Goa, even if I wanted to. Anyway, who would run the mobile library? People rely on it.’

Chloe’s heart gave a squeeze of sympathy when she saw the necklace of tears that had formed along Hannah’s lashes.

‘Don’t cry, darling,’ said Fran, reaching out to take Hannah’s hand in hers. ‘All is not lost yet. In fact… I might have an idea.’

‘What do you mean?’

Fran paused and to Chloe’s surprise she saw her cast a hesitant glance in Nick’s direction. Nick wrinkled his forehead, confusion spreading across his face as he exchanged a worried look with Chloe. Their conversation had taken a strange turn, and Chloe could feel a crackle of electricity in the air as they waited for Fran to tell them what she was thinking.

‘Nick, dear, why don’t you have a word with your aunt?’

‘My aunt? Does she know Jake?’

Fran nodded. ‘Yes, but that’s not what I mean.’

Nick was now looking completely perplexed and Chloe didn’t blame him.

‘Then what do you—’

‘What I mean is…’ Fran paused again, clearly struggling with whether to continue. ‘What I mean is, maybe you could ask her for her… secret recipe .’

Nick glanced down at his half-eaten horseradish cookie and Chloe saw the colour drain from his face, but he rallied well.

‘My aunt has a secret recipe?’

‘Yes, she calls it Ruth’s Romance Recipe.’

‘Really?’ said Hannah, her earlier despondency evaporating in an instant as she scooted to the edge of her chair, her eyes filled with renewed hope as she met Fran’s gaze. ‘Why didn’t you mention this recipe before? Does Mum know about it?’

‘No, she doesn’t. Only three people do.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we made a pact not to tell anyone.’

‘Who’s the other person?’

‘Liz.’

‘Can I ask a question?’ said Nick, his voice filled with bewilderment. ‘What exactly are we talking about?’

‘It’s a bit of a long story.’

Fran suddenly looked uncomfortable, and for a moment Chloe thought she was going to back-track, regretting her impromptu disclosure. However, to Chloe’s relief – because her curiosity was piqued, of course, not because she wanted the “romance recipe” for herself – Fran smiled at Hannah and launched into her explanation.

‘As you know, the three of us have been friends for over forty years. Like you and Megan, we met at high school and supported each other throughout the trials and tribulations of our teenage years, then college, as well as numerous broken love affairs. When we were in our mid-twenties, we were all happily dating men we knew were our soulmates, but for whatever reason not one of them showed any inclination of proposing. We dropped hints, sometimes huge, great big clangers, but to no avail.’

The bookshop’s doorbell tinkled, interrupting the unfolding story. Fortunately, the elderly man in the thick navy-blue raincoat and trilby hat simply waved a cheery greeting at Hannah and headed to the Military History section, where he selected a hardback from the top shelf and settled into one of the leather armchairs.

‘So what did you do?’ asked Chloe.

‘Well, there was no doubt in our minds that our partners loved us, or that we adored them, we just needed to give them a gentle push in the right direction. Ruth decided that desperate times called for desperate measures, so she told us about a recipe that her grandmother and friends had used when they were in a similar position, and they were all married to their “beaux” within weeks. So, when we weren’t busy working, Liz and I headed over to Fairholme Farm and we spent the following month searching for Ruth’s grandmother’s secret romance recipe, and eventually… we found it.’

‘And what was it a recipe for?’ asked Nick, his eyebrows raised.

‘Biscuits.’

In comedic synchronicity, Chloe, Nick and Hannah glanced down at the cookies on the table in front of them, then burst out laughing, their amusement relieving the tension that had been building as the story progressed. Unlike Hannah, Chloe was definitely not in the market for a proposal, or any kind of romantic entanglement for that matter, but she was enjoying seeing the optimism spread across Hannah’s face, as well as the scepticism on Nick’s.

‘So, did you make them?’ asked Hannah.

‘Ruth did.’

‘And?’

‘I don’t want to go into detail, but… we were all married within three months.’

‘Wow,’ Hannah mouthed silently.

‘Really?’ said Nick, a dash of disbelief in his voice.

‘We were shocked, too, but also delighted. I’m sure it would have happened eventually, but the timing was perfect; it was late spring, the weather was sunny and warm, and there was an abundance of flowers in our gardens to choose from for our bouquets and buttonholes. My wedding day was the happiest day of my life, and if you ask Derek, I’m sure he’ll tell you the same. We have two amazing children who have brought us so much joy, and I became a granny in September to a beautiful little boy. Liz and Gordon are just as happy as we are, and so were Ruth and Martyn before he very sadly passed away.’

‘So the recipe works,’ said Chloe, now completely invested in the story. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’

‘It did for us, and…’

‘And what?’

Fran’s cheeks turned pink, and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

‘There was a… slight mishap, or what Ruth called a “happy accident”.’

‘What kind of accident?’

‘There was a fourth person there when we served our respective partners their tea and biscuits that afternoon. He wasn’t invited, but he had a habit of dropping in at the farm for a cuppa and a chat every now and then.’

‘Who was it?’

Fran laughed. ‘The vicar.’

‘Oh my God, did he eat one of the biscuits?’

‘We could hardly stop him, could we? Not without giving the game away.’

‘And?’

‘He met and married his wife, Judith, within six weeks. They have five children, seven grandchildren, and four labradors. Four!’

Again, laughter reverberated around the bookshop, causing the elderly man to look up from his book on World War II battleships in surprise, smiling at their jollity before resuming his scrutiny of the hefty tome.

‘That’s a wonderful story, Fran,’ said Chloe, finishing off her coffee but avoiding her cookie. ‘It’s like something out of a romcom movie.’

‘It is.’ Fran smiled. ‘It really is. We need more love and happiness in the world, which is why I think it’s time to pass the recipe on to the next generation. Unfortunately, I don’t know which ingredients were in those biscuits, nor do I know where Ruth keeps the recipe. She wanted to keep her grandmother’s recipe in the family, which is why she insisted we made a solemn pact not to tell anyone what we’d done.’

‘Oh my God, Nick, you have to call your aunt!’ declared Hannah.

‘You can speak to her yourself when she gets back from Oz.’

‘But it’s an emergency!’ Hannah cried, her voice rising. ‘It’s less than three weeks until Jake heads off for India on New Year’s Eve, and after that it will be too late. I need to bake a batch of Ruth’s grandmother’s amazing biscuits before he leaves.’

‘Wouldn’t it just be easier to tell him how you feel?’

‘Maybe, but don’t you think this is kind of romantic? A love potion cookie?’

‘No, actually, I think it’s—’

‘Please, Nick.’

Nick rolled his eyes. ‘Okay, I’ll ask her, but there’s no guarantee she’ll—’

‘Great!’

Hannah held Nick’s gaze.

‘What? You mean now?’

‘No time like the present when it comes to affairs of the heart.’

‘I’m sorry, Hannah, but she’s currently on route from Dubai to Sydney. I promise to call her later, though, when she’s settled in at her cousin’s house and fought off her jetlag.’

‘Okay, thanks. And Chloe, let me know what day is best for the cocktail-making event. Next Saturday night is best for me.’

Before Chloe could respond, Hannah had jettisoned from her chair and skipped off to serve a customer who had arrived in search of a Julia Donaldson book for her godson for Christmas. Smiling, Fran gave Chloe’s shoulder a squeeze and followed in Hannah’s wake, leaving behind a waft of Estée Lauder perfume and her batch of warm mince pies.

‘Come on. Let’s get out of here,’ said Nick, running his fingers through his fringe distractedly. ‘I don’t know about you, but I feel like I’ve been hit by a steamroller. I only intended us to do a little window shopping, and I seem to have bought a ticket for the local pantomime, agreed to attend the village book club, and have a very awkward conversation with my aunt. If Hannah ever wants to move on from the village bookshop, I’m sure there’ll be a job for her in local politics. She certainly knows how to get things done.’

Nick stood up from the table and waited for Chloe to join him.

‘Aren’t you going to finish your cookie?’ she asked with a smirk.

‘No, but I’m happy to swap it for your sprout flavoured one.’

Chloe giggled. ‘I’ll give it a miss, thanks.’