“What?” I spluttered. Commenting on a cockerel’s sexualneeds was not an in-character action for my mother. I cleared my throat and rubbed the back of my neck. “Mumsaid that?”
“Oh yes,” Hetty said in a breezy tone. “Bianca’smuchless repressed these days.”
I didn’t want to hear about my mum and her theories about poultry sexual and mental health problems. Thankfully, Hetty was on a mission and she wasn’t about to be distracted by Gandalf.
“You really messed up,” she said, straight to the point – but then Hetty always was. “What on earth were you thinking?”
I sighed, my shoulders dropping as I sank down into a chair next to the huge, worn kitchen table, running my hand along the smooth wood surface.
“I’m a fucking idiot.”
Hetty reached behind her for a blue and white striped pot, opened the lid and held it out to me.
“I only have fifties.”
She shook the jar at me and lifted her eyebrows. “Better not say bad words then, young man. You still owe me one pound twenty-five from two decades ago anyway. You always did have a potty mouth.” I pulled my wallet out and put a fifty in the jar.
“Well, we’d better sort it out then, hadn’t we?” Hetty said as if we were back when I was a kid in the kitchen complaining about a difficult piece of homework instead of sitting here as a full-grown man having broken her daughter’s heart. “Nice cup of tea?” A cup of tea was pretty much Hetty’s starting point for any crisis, big or small. “Her hands are getting better, so that’s one good thing.”
“Her hands?” I frowned at Hetty as she put the kettle on. She gave me a cautious look before answering.
“You didn’t know about her hands?”
I shook my head, my stomach clenching in dread.
Chapter 27
“She was in pain?”
Felix
I had a feeling that I was not going to like whatever had happened to Lucy’s hands, my own clenching into fists on the table.
“Oh dear,” Hetty said. “Tea first.” I waited until a cup of sweet tea was placed in front of me.
“Please Hetty, tell me.”
“Take a sip first, love.” I complied, not even tasting the tea, but the warmth of it did settle my stomach somewhat. Hetty nodded. “Frostnip.”
“Frostnip?” I shook my head. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” said Hetty cautiously. “You know she has Raynaud’s and cold intolerance, don’t you? Doctors never could work out why my Lucy couldn’t bear the cold. Had every blood test under the sun – all clear. It’s just the way she was made. Should have been born on the Equator, definitely not in England.
“Anyhow, when she left your office, she didn’t have her coat, gloves, hat or her bag. And she says she was wearingan outfit you would approve of so she could impress you. Not her normal jumpers and furry boots, but a skirt, heels, thin shirt.” My heart sank as I started to guess where this was going. “Now, my Lucy, she’s a dreamer. Not the most practical soul, but you know that.” I nodded, not wanting to hear the rest but knowing I had to. “Well, she tried to get back into the building to get her stuff, but the chaps on the door wouldn’t consider it. Told her they had strict instructions – she was not to re-enter the building under any circumstances. That she was a threat to the company.”
I winced, putting the mug of tea down to shove my hands into my hair. Hetty cleared her throat.
“She didn’t know what to do. No phone, no money. And she’s shy and doesn’t want to impose. She only went into a café to ask for help when she realised she was in trouble, but to be honest, by then it was a bit too late. Her hands were in a really bad way. Frostnip is sort of like a cold burn. Painful for a few weeks but no lasting damage.”
“Oh, God no,” I groaned, letting my head drop to the table. “I’m an unbelievable bastard.” I took another fifty out of my wallet without looking up and slid it to Hetty. “Mike shouldn’t have stopped with one punch.”
“No, I bloody well shouldn’t have.” At Mike’s angry voice, my head snapped up. He was standing at the back door, rubbing down the dogs. His face was red with anger, his jaw set. “What the fuck is he doing here, Mum?”
Hetty pushed the jar towards him. He dug in his pocket, extracting a pound coin and chucking it in without breaking eye contact with me.
Hetty sighed. “Give the boy a break, Michael. He feels bad enough already. And Lucy’s handsaremuch better. She can type now, at least.”
My gaze shot to Hetty. “She couldn’t type?”
