Never Say No to a Caffarelli

Poppy gave her a withering look. ‘There is more to a man than how he looks. What about intellect and morals? What about personal values?’

Chloe grinned at her. ‘You fancy him like rotten, don’t you? Go on—admit it. And I reckon he fancies you. Mr Compton reckons so too. Why else would he come in for coffee two days in a row?’

Poppy stalked over to put the cupcakes on the glass cake-stand. ‘Raffaele Caffarelli has had more lovers than you and I have had hot dinners. He thinks that just because he wants something or someone he can have it. His sense of entitlement is beyond arrogant. It’s deplorable.’

Chloe’s eyes began to twinkle. ‘You really are all fired up over him, aren’t you? This can’t just be about your house. Why do you dislike him so much?’

Poppy carried the cake-stand out to the tearoom. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’

Chloe followed close behind. ‘Mr Compton said Rafe’s going to turn Dalrymple Manor into a luxury hotel and spa. It could be really good for the village if he does. There’d be heaps of jobs for the locals, and we might even get a bit of extra business as a result.’

Poppy plonked the cake-stand down and turned to glare her. ‘For the last four-hundred-and-seventy-five years, the manor has been a family home. Generations of the Dalrymple family have been born and have died there. Turning it into a plush hotel will totally destroy its character and desecrate its history.’

‘I expect Rafe Caffarelli will do a very tasteful conversion,’ Chloe put in. ‘I checked out some of his other developments online. He’s big on keeping things in context architecturally. He draws up most of the preliminary plans himself.’

Poppy was still on her soapbox and wasn’t stepping down any time soon. The thought of the paparazzi hiding in the hedges in her beloved village to get their prized shot of hedonistic celebrities partying up at the manor was sickening. ‘Lord Dalrymple will be spinning in his grave if this preposterous project goes ahead. What was his cousin thinking of, selling to a developer? Why couldn’t they have sold to a private family instead? Another family could bring life and vibrancy to the place instead of filthy rich people wining and dining and partying at all hours.’

‘You really love that old place, don’t you?’

Poppy blew out a long breath. ‘I know it sounds ridiculously sentimental but I think Dalrymple Manor needs a family to make it come alive again. It’s spent the last sixty years grieving. You can feel the sadness when you walk in there. It’s almost palpable. The stairs creak with it, sometimes even the foundations groan with it.’

Chloe’s eyes rounded. ‘Are you saying it’s haunted?’

‘I used to think so when I was a kid, but no, it’s just a sad old place that needs to be filled with love and laughter and family again.’

‘Maybe Rafe Caffarelli will settle down there with one of his lovers,’ Chloe suggested.

‘I can’t see that happening,’ Poppy said with an expression of disdain. ‘He doesn’t keep a lover more than a month or two. Playboys like him don’t settle down, they just change partners.’

Chloe gave her a speculative look. ‘So I take it I’m not the only one who’s done a little online searching on the illustrious Rafe Caffarelli?’

Poppy went back to the kitchen with her head at a haughty height. ‘I’m not the least bit interested in what that man does or who he does it with. I have much better things to do with my time.’

* * *

Just before lunch Mr Underwood, Poppy’s landlord, came in to the tearoom. He usually came in on a Friday afternoon for a cup of tea and a slice of the cake of the day. Poppy desperately hoped this Tuesday visit wasn’t a business one. She had a list of expenses to see to on the dower house. The place needed painting inside and out, and the garden needed urgent attention. There was an elm tree close to her bedroom that needed lopping as it was keeping her awake at night with its branches scratching at the window. Even a modest rise in rent at the shop would just about cripple her financially now.

‘Your usual, Mr Underwood?’ she said with a bright and hopeful smile.

‘Er, can I have a word, Poppy?’ John Underwood asked.

‘Sure.’ Poppy’s smile tightened on her face. Please don’t ask for more rent.

‘I thought I should let you know I’ve been made an offer on the building,’ John said. ‘It’s a good one, the best I’ve had, so I’m going to take it.’