Poppy Blake - The Windmill Café

‘Yes, Suki cracked open the Moët and we toasted our future together, made a few plans. I swear she was the happiest I’ve ever seen her when I left the lodge. At last, the world was smiling on her and she deserves it after everything she’s been through. She’s beautiful, a talented performer, a wonderful friend and a fabulous sister to Jess.’ William drew in a steadying breath. ‘Do you really think someone wanted to hurt Suki?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe they just meant to incapacitate her so she couldn’t sing for us on the terrace that night. She did seem to recover quickly after she had emptied her stomach.’

For the first time since they had bumped into William in the car park, Rosie saw his features relax and his face morphed into the attractive and athletic man that Suki had fallen in love with on the sun-filled tennis courts of Majorca. She watched him drain the contents of his mug and pushed himself to his feet a little unsteadily – after all, he had consumed almost a mugful of Cognac.

‘Can I ask you one last question?’ asked Rosie. ‘What time did you leave Suki’s lodge?’

‘I watched Freddie leave and I went straight in. We were together for about thirty minutes, then I left so she could get some rest before getting changed for the promised gig and our dinner afterwards.’

‘Did anyone see you leave?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. We were keeping our relationship secret.’

‘Did you see anyone, anyone at all, loitering around?’

‘No. I went back to my lodge for a quick shower, and then joined Nadia, Jess and Lucas on the terrace. Felix had just arrived and was letting his mouth go. I think he was drunk. The sooner Suki ditches the moron, the better.’

William must have had enough of the interrogation spotlight because he purposefully strode towards the French doors, turning back to the threesome sitting on the sofas, their eyes fixed on his agonized expression. ‘Find out who did this, please. For Suki’s sake.’ And he was gone.

‘Well, I think we can strike William from our list of suspects,’ said Mia. ‘Which leaves us with four people – Felix, Nadia, Jess and Lucas. Who’s next on your hit list, Monsieur Poirot? Felix? Can’t say I like the guy, and if it’s true that he was just about to be dumped…’

‘He wouldn’t try to poison Suki just because she was going to dump him – that’s crazy,’ spluttered Matt.

‘This whole situation is crazy!’

Rosie stared out of the French doors through which William had disappeared. Twilight was beginning to send fissures of scarlet and mauve through the sky and the starlings had embarked on an evening sonata which gave the deserted terrace a rather sombre feel.

‘I’m exhausted. I think we should call it a day,’ declared Mia. ‘Are you sure I can’t talk you into coming to stay with me?’

‘Thanks, but I think I’ll be fine here. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

After thanking Matt for the archery lesson, Rosie turned to encircle Mia in an appreciative hug. Her time in Willerby had taught her that there was no greater magic than the acceptance and support of friends. She couldn’t prevent herself from running her eyes over Matt’s retreating figure as he made his way back to his SUV in the Windmill Café car park. Every inch of his physique rippled with muscular strength and a surprise fizzle of interest shot through her veins, spreading into her fingertips like pins and needles.

‘Matt does ooze a certain rugged charisma, doesn’t he?’ mused Mia, standing next to Rosie on the terrace to swell the members of the Matt Wilson Appreciation Society.

‘Mmm, maybe.’

Rosie waved her friends off and went back inside, careful to lock the door behind her. She cast her eyes around the Windmill Café, a place that should, under happier circumstances, have reverberated with the clatter and chatter of culinary activity and animated conversation. Silence wrapped its insidious fingers around the room in a way that was somehow hypnotic and served to calm her anxieties. She cleared away their coffee mugs, washed them slowly in soapy water and put them back in their allocated places, then sprayed the benches with disinfectant.

She climbed the stairs to her circular studio, her bones weighed down with a heavy lethargy, and slumped onto the sofa. She couldn’t stop her brain from spinning with a merry-go-round of emotions and a migraine threatened, so she grabbed one of her favourite cookery books – The Great British Baking Bazaar – and began leafing through the glossy pages.

Both her parents had adored books, but their favoured genres occupied opposite ends of the reading spectrum. Rosie remembered the first time she was allowed to choose her own book from the local library in the Hampshire village where she grew up, and her mother had told her the story that every one of the precious tomes contained a tiny fragment of the author’s heart so Rosie had to treat them with respect and reverence, irrespective of her personal preference as to subject matter.

In the dark days after her father’s death, her mother’s love of Mills & Boon was one of the few things that had pulled her through. Rosie too had relied on the stories she read to transport her to another place, far away from the clutches of reality, but recently, with the little peppermint-and-white windmill in her life and Mia by her side, she had let her reading habit slip.

She decided to curl up in bed with one of her father’s old gardening books that accompanied her everywhere. Yet, despite her determination to sink into a good book, Rosie slipped into the oblivion of sleep within seconds of her head hitting her silk pillowcase.

Rosie awoke feeling refreshed and eager to attack the day ahead. As the early morning sun splashed its rays through the windows causing dust eddies to bounce across the room on beams of light, she felt her creative juices flowing. For once, it was not the usual tingle in her fingers to grab the nearest dishcloth and disinfectant spray, but an unscratchable urge to delve her hands into a bowl of flour. Food preparation – be it baking, roasting, poaching, scrambling or sautéing – had become her solace in the place of flower arranging and she loved every single stage of it, not just the cleaning up.

For some reason, her thoughts lingered briefly on Harry. Of course, things hadn’t always been so hostile between them. The initial blossoming of her love for Harry, and being allowed to work alongside him in the flower shop, had helped to chase away her past anxieties and she found she was able to rekindle her passion for plant-based activities once again. Over time, she had got used to the daily contact with dirty water, soil and mould and slowly but surely, she managed to suppress the hygiene beasts too. Okay, she knew they were lurking in the darkest, grimmest corners of her mind, but she had been determined not to feed them with tasty morsels of her emotional wellbeing. She had been happy, relaxed and content with her life, which was why discovering Harry with Heidi had been such a shock.

Georgina had reported visiting the little flower shop when she had been shopping for her birthday present in the capital in July, but there had been no sign of the woman who had replaced her in Harry’s affections. Maybe she could have come to terms with Harry’s infidelity sooner if he’d chosen a different person to share his bed with. The scandal had just been too much to bear at the time. However, if Heidi hadn’t decided to slot her size eights into Rosie’s bejewelled sandals, she knew she would never have relocated to Norfolk, which meant she would never have explored her flair for culinary enterprise, nor met Mia, Matt and Freddie.

Rosie’s fear of relationships had not completely evaporated, but her belief that she had lost her identity, her place in the world and everything she held dear, had diffused. She now possessed the burgeoning conviction that she would survive, and not only that, but that she could enjoy whatever the director of her destiny had mapped out for her. Instead of standing back and letting life happen around her, Mia had inspired her to take control, to move forward, to seek fulfilment in a different version of her dreams with the same passion, hope and expectation she’d had for her flower business until Harry had burst her bubble.