Amanda Cadabra and The Hidden Depths by Holly Bell (best love novels of all time txt) 📕

‘Look,’ urged Dennis, choosing to ignore this sally from Miss de Havillande. He showed Amanda the image on his phone. ‘He let me take a photograph. He said I should sit in the driver’s seat, and what a pleasure to meet a fellow enthusiast. Charming, absolutely charming. We talked for what seemed hours. I’ve invited him to Vintage Vehicles. He’s only staying for the weekend, but he said it will be the highlight of his visit. He’s staying right here; here in Sunken Madley. Brought the ladies up in the Xj.’

‘Ladies!’ expostulated Sylvia. ‘Well, one of them is. Seems like a nice little thing. Not like ‘er friend. Friend! Huh! Wants ‘er for a foil more like.’

‘Right, well, thank you for explaining.’ Amanda looked at Mrs Sharma, who accurately anticipated her needs,

‘Cream?’

‘Yes, please.’

Mrs Sharma dipped gracefully and drew out a packet of Orijen Tundra Cat Treats from under the counter. She extracted a single piece, laid it on a napkin and handed it over to Amanda, who placed the offering before Tempest. He signified, with a subtle tilt of the head that he both accepted and approved.

‘Of course,’ Dennis insisted, ‘do tell your Aunt Amelia that she is uneclipsed in my affections.’

‘I promise to reassure if she has any concerns on that score,’ Amanda promised with a mischievous smile. She handed over the money for her purchase. ‘Well, nice to see you all. I must get …’

‘To The Grange, yes, of course,’ agreed Joan.

‘Only your third day back,’ added Sylvia.

‘I’ll be right there, Amanda,’ promised Miss de Havillande. ‘Moffat will start you off with some tea and some of Jim’s macaroons, and dear Gwendolen will be on hand if you need her. Churchill! Heel!’

The elderly terrier was taking refuge in a far corner and eyeing Tempest nervously.

‘Thank you, Miss de Havillande.’ Amanda bade the company farewell and led the source of Churchill’s anxiety towards the door.

‘Mind ‘ow you go,’ said Sylvia kindly.

‘Look out for Dreamy Eyes!’ called Joan. ‘You never know …’

‘Could be your Mr Right,’ added the lollipop lady.

‘What?’ asked Amanda momentarily bemused before registering there was matchmaking afoot. ‘Er, sorry, must be on my way!’ She made good her escape into the High Street.

Chapter 4

The Grange

Getting into the Vauxhall, Amanda put the conversation in The Corner Shop out of her head. Her mind was busy. Although she was happy to continue with the restoration, there was a task she was planning to persuade Miss de Havillande to take elsewhere. Rehearsing her speech, she turned the car off Grange Way and into the driveway of The Grange, where a few brave crocuses were showing their golden buds.

Having parked, she opened the rear passenger door for Tempest. He had condescended to come along, especially as Amanda had been careful not to mention the matter of Natasha. This was the lady, a cream seal-point, silken-furred, sapphire-eyed temptress of a Nevskaya Maskaradnaya, into whose good graces he had been unsuccessfully aspiring to insinuate himself. After his last failed attempt to win her favour, he had decided that not only was he going to play it cool, he was going to play it subzero temperatures.

Moffat, a man of girth and stature, aged, it was speculated, between 75 and 100, was general factotum and manager of the house and estate, but generally referred to himself as The Butler. This dignitary emerged, issued a beneficent welcome and insisted on getting Amanda’s tools out of the car. He walked ahead into the small dining-room, where her on-site workshop was set up. A pot of tea, under a vintage floral needlepoint cosy, was set on a tray, with a delicate china cup and saucer, sugar, milk and gingernut biscuits.

‘Will there be anything else I can get for you, Miss?’

‘Thank you, Moffat, this is splendid.’

‘Hello, my dear. Ah Moffat, you have already brought it in.’ observed the diminutive Miss Armstrong-Witworth — co-owner of the house and bosom friend to Cynthia — as she pattered gently into the room.

With a brief bow of the head, Moffat absented himself. Miss Armstrong-Witworth looked fondly towards the door he had just closed behind him.

‘Such a treasure. I don’t know what we would do without him.’

‘Hello, Gwendolen. He is indeed.’

‘I just wanted a quick word before dearest Cynthia returns. Something occurred to me. About the ballroom. I know we should have thought of it and mentioned it before. I do hope you won’t be too put out.’

‘I’m sure I won’t. It’s all part of the process,’ Amanda replied understandingly.

‘Yes, well … It’s the walls, you see.’

‘Ah.’ That sounded like a big job.

‘Yes … the paint.’

‘The paint?’

‘It’s rather old … I don’t think it’s been repainted since the Regency.’

‘Oh.’ Amanda knew what that meant.

‘Which means …’

‘Yes. I see. Lead.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Well, to do a proper job, it will have to come off. We can either halt the course of the restoration, take everything down from the walls, burn away the lead and repaint or … we wait until all of the mirrors have been done and do it then. Either way, it’s going to add to the time it all takes.’

‘That’s quite all right. I do think Cynthia will say to wait.’

‘Very well. Yes … after the ball.’

Amanda remembered her grandfather’s advice about disturbing old walls. In a word: ‘Don’t.’ She had already had experience of the consequences of accidentally having done so elsewhere in the village.

‘Hm … well, we shall just have to take extra care,’ Amanda said cautiously. ‘I suppose I should have thought of it myself.’

‘Not at all, my dear. This is the first time you have been involved with restoration on this scale. And very fortunate we consider ourselves to have you!’

At that moment the tall, wiry frame of Cynthia de Havillande breezed in with Churchill at her ankles. The terrier took one look at Amanda and glanced around nervously for an accompanying feline presence. Tempest, enthroned in the centre of the table, gave