Keeping the Peace Read Online Free

I’ll bring one over to you.’
    Pippa thought about the long drive back to the city where she was bound to get stuck in gridlock traffic. Sticking around just made the journey seem longer. On the other hand, the smell of coffee and breakfast wafting around the warm and cosy café was hard to resist. Her stomach gave a thunderous rumble, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime.
    ‘Okay. Could I have a blueberry muffin as well if you’ve got any?’
    The lady chuckled and shook her head.
    ‘You London folk. Blueberry muffin coming up.’
    Pippa sat down at a table next to the window and looked out at the passers-by. She noticed most of the men wore tweed and flat caps. Wow, she thought, this really is the country. Across the street was a post office-cum-grocery shop where an elderly man was setting the newspaper headline sandwich boards out on the pavement. He paused to greet a couple walking past with two black Labradors.
    CHILD’S BIKE STOLEN FROM DRIVEWAY screamed the headline. Pippa couldn’t help smiling. It made such a change from the latest stabbings and gun shootings.

     
    ‘Here y’are, m’love.’ The lady placed an obese muffin and cup of coffee on the plastic table before her.
    ‘Thanks.’ Pippa took a big unladylike slurp of the hot drink and sighed with satisfaction as she felt the warmth filter through her body. ‘Oh, that’s lovely.’
    The woman, who hadn’t moved away, chuckled.
    ‘Mind if I ask what you’re doing round these parts?’ she asked.
    ‘My uncle owns – or rather did own – I own it now – a cottage not far from here.’
    ‘Oh, yes?’
    The fact that Pippa had opened up a little appeared to be an invitation for the woman to sit down opposite her. Pippa didn’t mind. In fact, she was quite enjoying this friendly, enquiring company. It was so far removed from the anonymity and severe self-privacy of London.
    ‘Yes. Hazyvale House. Do you know it?’
    ‘Ah yes. Old Dave Taylor. Wily old man. Full of stories, he was. Sorry to hear of his passing.’
    ‘He was full of stories, wasn’t he?’ She smiled at her childhood memories when Uncle Dave would come to visit and regale exciting and, she now realised, completely farfetched stories. ‘He left me his house and his horses.’
    ‘That right?’ she said with raised eyebrows. ‘And what do you intend to do with them?’
    For a moment Pippa thought she was overstepping the line between being curious and being nosy. But then in such a small town, she probably had every right to know if she was going to sell the cottage or move in.
    ‘Well, the plan is to sell everything eventually. The cottage is gorgeous, but needs so much done to it. So once that’s all sorted then I’ll probably put it on the market.’
    Her plans while she had lain in bed last night had built a picture of selling the horses and using the money to hire some local tradesmen to fix the cottage up, after which she could sell it. It would probably do for some London couple who wanted a weekend pad in the country to escape the hustle and bustle of the city.
    She noticed the lady wasn’t too impressed by the news, but she was saved from any comment by the jangle of the door opening. A thin stooped man who looked about a hundred creaked in. A dog, looking equally ancient, pottered at his heels.
    ‘All right, Norm, my love?’ The lady jumped up and bustled around to the other side of the counter. The man grunted and made his way to a table next to Pippa’s. ‘RANDY! Norm’s here for his breakfast!’
    This time Pippa was a bit more prepared for this bellow at the poor teenager. She also liked the way the old man hadn’t needed to tell her what he wanted. She’d do that too at Vivace’s if she could ever remember what their regulars ordered.
    He looked short-sightedly across at Pippa through milky cataracts, but turned away to the hostess as she came over with a cup of tea.
    ‘New clientele you have here, Wendy?’
    ‘Just passing