when, as she found a working niche for herself and then had Ben to focus on, she’d seemed more content. But since Simon had died, Erica was fussing over her again. Part of Alex desperately wanted to see her sister and felt bad about keeping her at bay; the other part couldn’t face the inevitable conflict it would bring.
With the discordant mood of the conversation still clouding her mind, Alex drifted restlessly into the sitting room and then paused for a moment in front of the clock. The key to the mechanism had turned up at the back of one of the drawers in the kitchen just the day before though she was convinced she’d already looked there. The clock had started as soon as she’d finished winding it and had filled the house for a while with its loud tock and melodic chimes on each quarter hour. Now it had stopped again and she glared at it reproachfully.
She wandered through into the kitchen to put away the shopping she’d bought that morning from The Stores and saw the large packet of liquorice allsorts on the table. She hated them but they had been Simon’s favourite; she’d bought them automatically. She swore, hit the table with frustration, then burst into tears.
*
Theo Hellyon walked into The Armada and sauntered up to the bar. When he was a youth the old inn had had a separate bar and lounge; now it was all open plan. Dining tables, each with a plasticized menu and silk flowers in a vase, had taken over the floor area. Dominoes were frowned on and the dartboard usually locked up. But Theo remembered the first time he’d sneaked in to buy a drink when the flagstoned floor had been strewn with cigarette ends and the best food on offer was ‘chicken in a basket’. Home from Harrow for the summer holidays, he’d been barely sixteen but he’d been big for his age and was pushing his luck. The landlord had served him a pint but he wasn’t fooled; he was just turning a blind eye. At that time everyone in the village knew how old Theo Hellyon was. They might not have had a title but the Hellyon family had been the leading family of the village for centuries.
But the landlord of The Armada had changed several times since Theo’s youth and the make up of the village had changed too. Most of the property with water views had been bought by incomers either as holiday homes or for retirement. There were just a handful of people now who knew much about the Hellyons’ place in the history of the village. Most people saw Theo Hellyon as a local boy with a smart education and a glamorous job; his mother was just an eccentric woman with amusing pretensions.
When home, Theo regularly visited the pub, regaling the bar with stories of his adventures. He was gregarious, entertaining and quick to buy a round of drinks, though he rarely stayed long. Women found him charming and flattering, men looked on him as ‘one of the boys’. He liked to be seen as a familiar face. He was aware that in a village the size of Kellaford Bridge, the pub and the shop could provide more relevant local news than any time spent searching the internet. They were useful both for acquiring and disseminating information.
Now it was lunch-time and quiet. Theo stood next to Eric Ladyman, a retired fisherman with a full grey beard and a dry sense of humour, who these days drank his cider in halves to please his doctor. Theo nodded first at him and then at the man behind the bar. The current landlord, Hugh Darrecott, was a big, paunchy man with wispy grey hair carefully combed across his pate. He was known to have a roving eye and a nagging wife though opinion varied as to which had provoked the other. Theo ordered a pint for himself, another half for Eric and invited the landlord to have one himself. They passed several minutes in idle conversation about Theo’s work and his suggestion that he’d had enough travelling for the time being and might stay around and work locally for a while. ‘Maybe I’ll get back into design and build again
With the discordant mood of the conversation still clouding her mind, Alex drifted restlessly into the sitting room and then paused for a moment in front of the clock. The key to the mechanism had turned up at the back of one of the drawers in the kitchen just the day before though she was convinced she’d already looked there. The clock had started as soon as she’d finished winding it and had filled the house for a while with its loud tock and melodic chimes on each quarter hour. Now it had stopped again and she glared at it reproachfully.
She wandered through into the kitchen to put away the shopping she’d bought that morning from The Stores and saw the large packet of liquorice allsorts on the table. She hated them but they had been Simon’s favourite; she’d bought them automatically. She swore, hit the table with frustration, then burst into tears.
*
Theo Hellyon walked into The Armada and sauntered up to the bar. When he was a youth the old inn had had a separate bar and lounge; now it was all open plan. Dining tables, each with a plasticized menu and silk flowers in a vase, had taken over the floor area. Dominoes were frowned on and the dartboard usually locked up. But Theo remembered the first time he’d sneaked in to buy a drink when the flagstoned floor had been strewn with cigarette ends and the best food on offer was ‘chicken in a basket’. Home from Harrow for the summer holidays, he’d been barely sixteen but he’d been big for his age and was pushing his luck. The landlord had served him a pint but he wasn’t fooled; he was just turning a blind eye. At that time everyone in the village knew how old Theo Hellyon was. They might not have had a title but the Hellyon family had been the leading family of the village for centuries.
But the landlord of The Armada had changed several times since Theo’s youth and the make up of the village had changed too. Most of the property with water views had been bought by incomers either as holiday homes or for retirement. There were just a handful of people now who knew much about the Hellyons’ place in the history of the village. Most people saw Theo Hellyon as a local boy with a smart education and a glamorous job; his mother was just an eccentric woman with amusing pretensions.
When home, Theo regularly visited the pub, regaling the bar with stories of his adventures. He was gregarious, entertaining and quick to buy a round of drinks, though he rarely stayed long. Women found him charming and flattering, men looked on him as ‘one of the boys’. He liked to be seen as a familiar face. He was aware that in a village the size of Kellaford Bridge, the pub and the shop could provide more relevant local news than any time spent searching the internet. They were useful both for acquiring and disseminating information.
Now it was lunch-time and quiet. Theo stood next to Eric Ladyman, a retired fisherman with a full grey beard and a dry sense of humour, who these days drank his cider in halves to please his doctor. Theo nodded first at him and then at the man behind the bar. The current landlord, Hugh Darrecott, was a big, paunchy man with wispy grey hair carefully combed across his pate. He was known to have a roving eye and a nagging wife though opinion varied as to which had provoked the other. Theo ordered a pint for himself, another half for Eric and invited the landlord to have one himself. They passed several minutes in idle conversation about Theo’s work and his suggestion that he’d had enough travelling for the time being and might stay around and work locally for a while. ‘Maybe I’ll get back into design and build again
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