Page 37 of Matilda’s Summer of New Beginnings

‘The Spatchcock is probably the tallest building in Padcock — apart from Padcock Court, I guess,’ Jay responded. ‘So make the most of the view. You’ll not get the opportunity anywhere else here, unless you somehow find yourself in the attics of Padcock Court, and I’m not sure I’d recommend that. For a start, you’d have to get past Mrs Pomeroy and the hounds.’

‘The hounds?’ I was startled. ‘Are they big ones? Like Baskerville hounds?’

Jay laughed. ‘If the Baskerville one was a Labrador, then yes. Even bigger. But Arfur and Umbert are really quite harmless. You’ll probably be licked to death before you infiltrated the Court.’

‘I don’t mind big, licky dogs. I do hope I see them around.’ I peered around me, as if they’d materialize around a corner. I was slightly disappointed that they didn’t.

‘If you come to the Fayre you will,’ replied Jay. ‘They usually do the prize-giving.’

I quashed the vision of the words wimpy limpet that were now flashing across my mind in pink neon at the thought of potentially attaching myself to Jay again at the Fayre. Instead, I tried to contemplate Labradors doing the prize-giving. ‘Excuse me?’ I said, a little weakly. ‘They do the prize-giving?’

‘Yes.’ Jay nodded, quite seriously. ‘Mrs Pomeroy gives them a rosette to carry — basically whichever dog chomps down on it first gets to carry it — and they walk over to the recipient who’s standing on the side of the stage. Then the recipient has to accept it with a pat on the head.’

‘What, Mrs Pomeroy pats the recipients?’

‘On occasion, yes. Usually towards the end of the event when everyone is fractious.’ I cast a glance at him to see if he was joking, but his expression was serious. Wow. ‘But usually, the winner is expected to pat the head of the hound who has presented the rosette and thank them for the presentation, and say “good boy”.’

I stifled a snigger. This was crazy. Fun-sounding, but also crazy.

‘So — did you get a rosette when you won?’

‘I did.’

‘And who gave you the prize?’

‘Arfur. Or Umbert. One of them, definitely.’

‘And did you get a pat on the head?’ I had to ask, I just had to.

‘Oh look — here we are at the café,’ he said, and held the door open for me. ‘I’m no longer at liberty to speak of the prize-giving. Have a seat. This one’s on me.’ He smiled, a rather devastating smile, but I’d seen the same sort of thing from Damien so, even though it looked rather splendid, I wasn’t entirely taken in by it.

‘Jay Rivers. Master in Deflection,’ I muttered, and ducked under his arm into the coffee-scented interior of Cerys’ café.

Chapter Thirteen

Cerys was sitting on one of the tables in the corner, her feet up on a chair, flicking through a magazine. She looked up a little guiltily when we walked in, but then smiled when she realized it was us.

‘Hello you two.’ She made no move to get up. ‘Excuse me while I take advantage of being a hugely pregnant lady and sit here for a bit. Polly’s in the back, let me just get her — Polly!’ Cerys had an extraordinarily loud bellow for someone who looked so natural and put-together as she did.

Polly popped her head around the corner. Her eyes settled first on Jay, and she smiled. Then they travelled to me, and the smile wavered, but to give her credit, she didn’t ignore me.

‘Hi Jay. What can I get you — er — both?’

‘Espresso for me please, and Tilds? What about you?’

‘Latte. Please. If it’s not too much bother.’

Polly looked at me oddly — I mean, she was right. Why would it be a bother? She worked in a café.

‘It’s not a bother at all,’ she said. I felt myself flush and smiled at her stupidly. Then I turned to Jay. ‘Is it okay if I have a look at the gifts and things? While you’re waiting?’

‘Of course. I’ll give you a shout when we’re sorted.’

‘Thanks.’ I scurried off to the other side of the tea room, into the gallery and gift shop, where again I found myself drawn to Edie’s work which peppered the walls and the postcard stand. There were even a few small, framed originals, priced as eye-wateringly expensive as the catalogue at Julio’s. All proceeds to charity said a note in front of them. It went on to describe the children’s charity Edie was patron of. I once more thought how marvellous it would be to sell some of my smaller pieces purely to make money for a charity, what a joy not to be reliant on the income from them.

Surreptitiously, I pulled my phone out of my pocket (yes, of course, my pretty dress had pockets) and scrolled through the photos of my line and wash Padcock paintings. I could imagine them in here, on these shelves, maybe as postcards or notebooks or something—

‘Hey, they’re really good!’ I jumped as Jay’s voice spoke in my ear. ‘Why didn’t you show me these before?’