Tea and Broken Biscuits Read online

  Tea and Broken Biscuits

  Daphne Neville

  Copyright © 2018 Daphne Neville

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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  Other Titles by This Author

  TRENGILLION CORNISH MYSTERY SERIES

  The Ringing Bells Inn

  Polquillick

  Sea, Sun, Cads and Scallywags

  Grave Allegations

  The Old Vicarage

  A Celestial Affair

  Trengillion’s Jubilee Jamboree

  PENTRILLICK CORNISH MYSTERY SERIES

  The Chocolate Box Holiday

  A Pasty In A Pear Tree

  The Suitcase in the Attic

  The Old Tile House

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter One

  “It’s snowing,” shrieked Hetty, as she looked from the sitting room window of Primrose Cottage on the last day of February, “Come and see, Lottie. It’s real snow like we used to get when we were kids.”

  Lottie scrambled to her feet from where she was kneeling on the hearth rug stacking logs beside the stove and hastened to the side of her twin sister. Her mouth gaped open in disbelief. “But the sun was shining a few minutes ago. I mean, I know this was forecast but it’s changed so quickly.”

  The sisters sat down on either side of the table beneath the sitting room window and watched as the horizontal snow blew across the landscape from the east, at times so thickly that it completely obscured the distant coastline. Having lived for most of their lives in Northamptonshire they were used to snow where it seemed an every year occurrence during their childhood. However, they were now coming towards the end of their second winter in Cornwall and knew from chatting to their new friends that snow of any magnitude in the county was a rare experience.

  Hetty and Lottie were twins; born in 1952 and not looking forward to notching up another year when they reached their next birthday. Lottie was a widow whose husband had died in 2015. Hetty, who was the older of the two by ten minutes, had never married but had devoted her life to her career as a midwife. The sisters had decided to move to Pentrillick in Cornwall during a family holiday in 2016 which they had shared with Lottie’s son Bill, his wife Sandra and their three children, Zac, Vicki and Kate. Having made the decision both then sold their respective homes and moved to Primrose Cottage in Blackberry Way the following December.

  “Who’s that?” Hetty squinted to see if she could make out the huddled figure in the driving snow whose head and shoulders were just visible over the front garden wall.

  “It’s Kitty.” Lottie jumped up when she saw their friend walk between their unlatched garden gates and opened the door before the doorbell rang.

  “Come in, come in,” Lottie beckoned, “I hope nothing’s wrong.”

  Kitty stamped her feet before she crossed the threshold. She then took off her hat and coat and shook both outside to remove the excess snow. As Lottie closed the door, Kitty hung her outer garments on the newel post at the foot of the stairs and slipped off her wet shoes.

  “No everything’s fine. I just came to tell you that tonight’s drama group meeting is cancelled. Robert put it on the Pentrillick Players’ Facebook page but I thought I’d pop round and tell you in person in case you’d not seen it.”

  “No we hadn’t but seeing the weather I’m not surprised.” Lottie led Kitty into the sitting room where Hetty had already risen from her seat.

  “Coffee, Kitty?” Hetty asked, “You must be frozen.”

  Kitty blew on her fingers to bring them back to life. “Yes, thank you, that’d be lovely but I’ve hardly come a long way and the wind was behind me so I got here even quicker than usual.”

  Kitty and her husband, Tommy, lived in Meadowsweet, the last house along Blackberry Way, a dead-end lane along which eight detached houses enjoyed panoramic views over Pentrillick and the sea beyond.

  When the coffee was ready Hetty carried it into the sitting room on a tray. Behind her followed a middle-aged man who held a barrel of biscuits.

  “Oh, hello, Sid,” said Kitty, surprised to see the plumber, “where did you spring from?”

  Hetty placed the mugs on the table. “Sid’s been fixing the water. The hot has been running cold since this morning.” She shuddered: “it chose to act the fool while I was in the shower.”

  “Oh dear, what a nuisance. Still, just as well you know a good plumber.”

  Sid took a bow and placed the biscuit barrel on the table.

  “I wholeheartedly agree,” said Lottie, “and we really appreciate the fact that he came to our rescue at such short notice.”

  “You know me,” chuckled Sid as he took a seat, “always happy to help out a damsel in distress, or even two.”

  Seated around the table all four then watched the snow falling, already several inches deep.

  “So has Robert decided when the drama group meeting will be?” Lottie asked Kitty.

  “Sometime next week. Probably Monday as that’s when we usually meet.”

  “Hmm, shame it wasn’t Monday this week because the weather wasn’t too bad then,” muttered Hetty.

  Kitty removed her glasses to prevent the coffee from steaming them up. “But it couldn’t be helped, Het. Robert had to go to his parents’ Ruby Wedding celebrations and it would have been no good the meeting going ahead without him as he’s the best organiser the drama group has ever had.”

  “Of course, silly me. I’d forgotten that was the reason.”

  “And what’s more,” continued Kitty, “he’s the only one with a copy of the next play.”

  “Point taken,” chuckled Hetty.

  “So are you going to the meeting whenever it is, Sid?” Lottie asked.

  “You bet. Making a fool of myself is right up my street. I like a bit of limelight.”

  “Is that why you were a fortune teller for a while?” Kitty asked, recalling his stint as Psychic Sid.

  “Hmm, yes and no. Psychic Sid was a bit of a whim and I enjoyed it while it lasted but there’s only so much you can read into folk’s fortunes,” he chuckled, “or make up as the case was with me.”

  Kitty smiled. “At least you’re honest and I’m glad you’re joining us as we’re us
ually a bit short of men.”

  “So will your Tommy be going to the meeting whenever it is?” Lottie asked.

  Kitty shook her head. “No, amateur dramatics isn’t really Tommy’s thing. Although he always supports the performances and helps out with scenery if there’s a shortage of willing helpers. I’m so glad you’ve all decided to join the drama group this year. It’s great fun and I’ll be able to walk down to the meetings with you ladies.”

  “And you can pop into the Crown and Anchor on the way home afterwards,” said Sid. “I’ve noticed most of the group do.”

  Lottie broke a biscuit in half and dipped it in her coffee. “I like the idea of that.”

  “Yes, as Sid said quite a few members make a beeline for the pub,” admitted Kitty, “even those who don’t pass it on their way home. It’s a nice way to round off the evening especially if rehearsals are going well.”

  “I must confess I’m quite looking forward to it all,” said Hetty as she glanced at the fire and saw that it was burning low, “Last year’s production was extremely good and I was very impressed.” She stood up and put another log on the fire.

  “Yes, there’s quite a lot of talent in the village,” agreed Kitty as she placed her empty mug down on the table and put her glasses back on, “and I think the arrival of Brett Baker will bring a lot more people out of the woodwork - out of curiosity if for no other reason.”

  Brett Baker was a playwright and writer of popular situation comedies, several of which had been televised over the years. He had first appeared in Pentrillick in January when it became apparent to those who felt it their duty to keep the villagers up to date with the local news, that he was the new owner of Sea View Cottage, a property which for several years had been a holiday let. Shortly after his arrival in the village, Brett was introduced by Ashley Rowe, the landlord of the Crown and Anchor, to Robert Stephens who was the brains behind the village’s amateur dramatic society. The two got along well which resulted in Brett offering Robert, free of charge, a play he had written some time ago which had never been performed anywhere. Robert accepted with enthusiasm and promised the play would be the next production of the Pentrillick Players in late May.

  “So, what’s Brett Baker’s play about?” Lottie asked.

  Kitty shook her head. “I’ve not the foggiest idea. Robert’s playing it very close to his chest.”

  Hetty finished her coffee and took a quick glance out of the window. The snow had eased and visibility was much improved. “Well, I suppose it’s only fair that everyone gets to know the details at the same time.”

  Kitty nodded. “I think that is the general idea. So will you be hoping for a part in the play or will you be volunteering for backstage chores?”

  “I’ll do whatever is deemed necessary,” chuckled Hetty, “I mean if there is a part for a lady the wrong side of sixty then I may well go for it.”

  Lottie looked aghast. “Backstage for me. I’ll be offering to help with the costumes.”

  “I share your sentiments, Lottie,” Kitty smiled. “Playing the piano is as near as you’d ever get me to performing.”

  Sid stood. “I’d best make my way home now in case the weather gets any worse. Thanks for the coffee and biscuits, ladies and if I don’t see you before, I’ll see you at the meeting.”

  Later in the day the snow showers were less frequent and so when the sun put in an appearance, Hetty pulled on her boots and walked out into the back garden to take pictures on her phone. The fresh snow crunched beneath her feet as she made her way along the curved garden path; her fingers crossed that she did not misjudge the location of paving slabs and tread on any precious plants. Near to the holly bush, the heads of daffodils battered by the wind hung from their broken stems; Hetty carefully picked off the damaged flowers and bunched them together, she then continued along the path. By the pond she paused, the only reminder of its existence were the recognisable leaves of plants peeping up through the snow. She trod carefully to avoid standing on the ice and laughed when she saw the two foot tall decoy plastic heron which wore a fluffy white coat. Hetty felt sorry for the fish hidden beneath the snow covered sheet of ice but knew they would survive well enough as long as the cold spell lasted no more than a few days. She also took comfort from the fact they were at least safe from any herons which might not be fooled by their motionless plastic relative in his white winter coat. After taking several pictures she returned indoors and placed the damaged daffodils on the kitchen window sill in a ceramic vase.

  There was no more snow during the night but the following morning the temperature was still well below freezing. Hetty was up first and when she attempted to fill the kettle, no water gushed from the tap.

  “Great. Frozen pipes.” However, she was not too concerned for having lived alone for most of her adult years she was used to fending for herself. From a drawer in the sideboard she took out her hairdryer and then slipped on her boots. From the garage she fetched an extension wire and then clothed only in nightdress and dressing gown she warmed the pipe until she heard a hiss and knew the water was flowing again.

  Back in the warm, Hetty made a mug of tea then dropped two slices of bread into the toaster and because they were the last two slices, she went to the freezer to take out another loaf. There was no bread in the freezer.

  Hetty slammed shut the freezer door. “Humph! It’s going to be one of those days.”

  Ten minutes later, Lottie appeared showered, dressed and cheerful. “Morning, Het,” her shoulders slumped when she saw her sister’s glum face. “What’s up?”

  “No bread in the freezer and I’ve just used the last two slices.”

  “Oh well, we’ll just have to pop down to the village and hope the shop has some. It’d be nice to get outside for a while anyway and Albert could do with a walk.”

  The walk down Long Lane was a little hair-raising; the road had not been gritted and so it was icy where cars had travelled to and fro. To maintain their dignity the sisters kept to the side of the road and walked on undisturbed snow which crunched noisily beneath their feet. Albert, Hetty’s Jack Russell terrier, however, refused to tread on the cold white stuff and so Hetty had to carry him until they reached the village at the bottom of the hill where the pavements along the main street had been cleared.

  The village was unusually quiet. Very few cars drove along the road and only two or three pedestrians walked along the pavements. But inside the post office, several people were gathered merrily exchanging tales about the weather.

  “Hello,” gushed a cheery voice as Hetty took one of the last three loaves from the shelf, “is everything okay with you?”

  “Yes, thank you, Emma: apart from the fact we’ve run out of bread,” said Lottie.

  “And the pipes were frozen this morning,” groaned Hetty as she dropped the loaf into the wire basket.

  Lottie took a bag of flour and dried yeast sachets from the shelf so that she could make bread should the bad weather continue and supplies run out. “I suppose you’re all perky because the college is closed today.”

  “Yes, that and the fact we don’t see snow very often. When I get home, Claire and I are going to build a snowman.” The rosy cheeks, and green eyes sparkling beneath her striped woollen hat, made Emma looked younger than her nineteen years.

  “Claire?” Lottie queried.

  “My little sister.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “No doubt there will be a lot of snowmen and excited children around with the schools closed,” chuntered Hetty, “although I don’t recall them ever closing when we were kids; yet I remember we had some awful winters back in Northants, especially in 1963.”

  “Health and safety,” blurted Lottie, as she took a jar of coffee from the shelf, “I’m sure that’s why they close today at the drop of a hat.”

  Emma smiled broadly. “Talking of Northants, I hear you have the family coming down this Easter.”

  Lottie laughed. “Yes, and I suppose Zac told you.”
<
br />   “That’s right he did. I can’t wait to see him again and it’ll be nice to see the rest of the family too.”

  “I must admit we’re quite excited. We’ve not seen any of them apart from Zac since we moved here to Cornwall and it’ll be nice to have our loft conversion used.”

  “Well, I hope the weather’s a lot better than this for Easter,” said Emma, glancing out of the window, “or we’ll spend most of the holiday huddled by the fire.”

  After they left the shop, the sisters walked down to the deserted beach. The tide was in and to their delight the sand and shingle were completely hidden beneath a thick blanket of snow except where the waves had splashed onto the shore.

  “Not even any seagulls here today,” observed Lottie as she made a snowball and tossed it into the sea. The sisters watched, mesmerised as the snowball bobbed about until it was finally washed onto the shore, still intact.

  “Brrr, it’s too cold to hang around here,” muttered Hetty, rubbing her gloved hands together, “let’s go home and put the kettle on.”

  Early that evening before Hetty drew the curtains she looked to the heavy pale grey skies. Beneath it the distant horizon was blurred and once again thick snow was blowing horizontally from the east on an ever increasing wind. “Well,” she whispered as she pulled the curtains together, “March has certainly come in like a lion. Let’s hope the old proverb is right and it goes out like a lamb.”

  Chapter Two

  Overnight strong winds battered the area but as temperatures rose above freezing and rain fell, the snow began to melt and by daylight most of it had gone.

  “Hurrah,” sang Hetty, as she pulled back the sitting room curtains, “back to normal now. Spring is just round the corner so I think I’ll sow some seeds.”

  “But it’s still very cold, Het. I should wait awhile.”