Page 34 of Tears of Gold

“My brother moved to Auckland twenty-five years ago. He hasn’t been home since but occasionally he sends gifts for the children. Well, when they were children.”

“Auckland is beautiful.” I hesitate in the kitchen. I really want to put clothes on, but I’m glad Miss Beesley isn’t so appalled at the sight of me she’s not willing to talk—this could have been awkward otherwise. “So, you have children?”

“Yes, three. It’s been a blessing these last few years not having to be here all the time, I’m not going to lie. But they are away at university and living their own lives now. Looks like I have more time on my hands, which is perfect timing.”

“Perfect timing for what?”

“To help you set up your home.” She motions to where all our clothes are impeccably hung on hangers—which is not at all how I left them. “Why don’t you go and get dressed? I hear you like your coffee strong and short in the morning.”

“You saw Eli?” My stomach gives a little flutter as I mention his name. When will it stop doing that? Will it stop doing that?

“Quite a shock he gave me.” She flutters her hand in front of her chest. Blimey.

“Yeah, he can be stealthy when he’s getting ready for work.” I smile, tugging at the edge of Eli’s shirt. “I’ll go and get dressed.”

“And I’ll make coffee.”

I hum to myself as I rifle through the hanging clothes dangling from the edge of a rack which is probably supposed to hold pots and pans by their handles. I’m not sure but I think the clothes have been steamed; my packing was rushed to say the least. Abi and I were working on a 'shove it in a bin liner' method.

That reminds me. I need to ring her and thank her again, maybe find a little gift to send.

Choosing some soft blue skinny jeans and a black loose jumper, I dress and then return to the kitchen and lean against the AGA. Now this is a little luxury I can get used to. Miss Beesley has a wire contraption on the hot plate, and I watch intrigued as she lifts the old-fashioned chrome lid and turns over a rack which is holding two slices of bread. “Are you making toast?” The bread has wonderful criss-cross marks across its surface from where the wire has heated and cut on.

“Miss Hitchin, this will be the best toast you’ve ever tried.”

“Call me, Faith, please.”

She tips the toast onto a plate and motions for me to sit down at the table. “Jam?”

“Uh, do you have any peanut butter?” I doubt there is very much here. I’ll have to organise a shopping trip or order online.

“Of course.” She nods and opens a cupboard full of, well, everything.

“How did all this food get here?” I scrape some of the high fat goodness all over the toast, extra thick, and take a bite. I’m expecting it to be bloody delicious, but my mouth does a funny thing when I start to chew and fills with saliva.

It’s utterly gross.

Miss Beesley is watching me expectantly, so I smile and swallow. “Yummy.”

I push the plate away. I really don’t want peanut butter. It’ll just be a fancy healthy version.

“I put an order in yesterday.” Her eyes widen as she meets my gaze. “Oh, I haven’t overstepped any boundaries, have I? I knew you were busy, and I wanted to help. I should have asked.”

“No.” I hold my hand out to her. “It’s fine. I guess I’m not used to people doing things for me.”

“Eli had staff at his Mews, didn’t he?” She glances at the chair opposite mine but doesn’t take it.

“Please sit, you are making me all uncomfortable.”

She does and waits for my answer.

“Yeah, he did. There was a cleaner, I think.”

This is really uncomfortable. Reaching for my cup I slide it across the table and lift it to my mouth. I wince as the bitter blast hits my tongue.

Poor Miss Beesley. She is watching me with horror. “I think my taste buds are acting up. Anyway, so what sort of role do you want to play here?”

Her mouth flaps open. “What do you mean, what sort of role?”