In the midst of it all, Annie found herself looking out for John Granger. She wanted him to see how positive the response was, what she had achieved. But he didn’t show, or at least she hadn’t spotted him. But then she hadn’t had much time to see any of the proceedings, really. From the moment Pam had cut the ribbon, Annie had been practically attached to the coffee machine. The cakes she had made sold out by half past eleven, and the crisps and bars she’d bought at the cash-and-carry had gone by lunchtime. She knew it was a false indicator of what she would need realistically day by day; she was pretty sure mid-November would be a markedly subdued turnout by comparison. But Mari would receive a healthy twenty percent from her first day’s trading, which would be one in the eye for her nephew.

A large bouquet of flowers arrived in the afternoon, causing plenty of tongues to wag. Of course, it was from Max, the gracious deserted husband.

Maeve tsked when she saw them. “A more heartfelt way to show you care would be to not screw other women,” she said dryly.

Sally arrived with Susan, and Susan made all the right appreciative noises about the café.

“So, this is where my other half keeps disappearing off to of an evening,” said Susan, smiling.

“Poor Susan gets a blow-by-blow account of book club,” said Sally.

“I’m thinking of writing a sitcom about it.” Susan arched an eyebrow.

Annie laughed. “Oh, crikey, that’ll send the historical society into overdrive!”

—

Samantha left to relieve Tom up at the shop, and Maeve heroically stepped in to her place behind the counter. It took her a few goes to get to grips with the new high-tech till, but none of the customers were about to complain to Maeve’s face.

“Looking for anyone in particular?” Maeve asked when she saw Annie scanning the groups of people through the window.

“Oh,” said Annie. Busted. “I was wondering if John Granger would make an appearance. He’d said he wouldn’t, but I thought he might not be able to resist spying on me.”

“I think he went to Cornwall for a few days to catch up with Mari and his daughter.”

“His daughter?”

“Yes, Celeste; must be about twenty-two, twenty-three now? She went to live there after uni, does something to do with the Cornwall Wildlife Trust, looking after ditches or some such. She’s a good girl. Did work experience on my farm. Feisty, like her dad. John is an absolute fool for her, thinks the sun shines out of her backside. But then I suppose we all think that about our kids.”