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I couldn’t imagine Grumps had ever been a boy scout, but something was puzzling me. ‘Grumps, I thought the bottles contained magic to keep witches out. So how come a witch is making witch bottles? And if she had boxes full of them in the pub cellar, then they can’t be working, can they?’

‘They work very well.’ He held one up and shook it gently and for a moment I thought I saw a glittering spark of light like a shooting star in the murky depths, but it must have been a reflection.

‘But if the charm works, then why isn’t it affecting you either, Grumps?’

He looked at me in a surprised sort of way. ‘Because my heart is pure and my intentions good, though I confess to feeling the odd twinge, should I…er…inadvertently stray over the borders of white magic, even with the best of motives. A little revenge, for instance…’ He winced slightly. ‘It is like a sort of spiritual lumbago. Practitioners of the Old Religion can take two paths and this charm works against those who have taken the wrong one, and protects those of us who have not.’

‘Right,’ I said, thinking that at least if his coven believed that, then the witch bottles should keep them all on the straight and narrow – or, as straight and narrow as magic usually is: it seems a twisty sort of thing.

Grumps handed me the bottle. ‘You’ll find a small ledge for that above the museum door, Chloe. In fact, you will find a place for them over every exterior door to the Old Smithy.’

He was quite right, too – there was. I carried the box and he placed the bottles onto ledges above the lintels. ‘Made for the purpose, you see, Chloe. Very cautious women, the Frinton sisters. They will have taken their own bottles with them to set up at their new address.’

In my cottage there was a tiny niche carved into the stonework over both my front and back doors, just big enough to hold a bottle. I’d already noticed them and put one of my ornamental angel figures in each. They seemed protection enough to me, but since Grumps showed signs of extreme annoyance when I said so, I placated him by relegating them to the windowsills among the scented geraniums, and replacing them with the witch charms.

‘Poppy tells me the new vicar intends coming to see you tomorrow afternoon, Grumps,’ I said casually, when that was done, but obviously not casually enough because he gave me one of his sharp looks.

‘If he is obeying Hebe Winter’s orders, then he is a fool. If he knows of our relationship, then he is a double fool.’

‘What has our relationship got to do with it?’ I demanded, but he didn’t deign to reply to that one. I can’t really believe in his omniscience, so it does look as if Zillah has told him something about my past relationship with Raffy, though I sincerely hope not all.

‘I’m not sure Mr Merryman ever recovered from his visit with you, Grumps. What on earth did you say to the poor man?’

He looked faintly surprised. ‘Nothing that anyone could take objection to, I am quite sure! I was busy when he arrived, so perhaps it was what I was doing, rather than anything I said. Are you asking me to be kind to the new dolt when he comes to disturb my peace?’

‘No: you throw the bell, book and candle right back at him, if you want to,’ I told him callously.

Chapter Nineteen In the Mix (#ulink_442caf28-6d70-506c-9f16-4f238555ffdf)

My Angel card reading the following morning suggested that I should resolve issues with another and let the balm of forgiveness heal my heart, but if it was referring to Raffy then it had gone beyond the bounds of optimism and into la-la land.

But I supposed it could have meant forgiving Mum instead (though the outcome was equally unlikely), since the postman brought me a small DNA sampling package, organised by Chas. He was quick off the mark!

If Chas wasn’t my father it would throw the game right open, because if Mum lied to him, she might also have lied to the other man and it would be awful if I never found out who my biological father was. I didn’t really know why it felt so important, though, since I never intended having children so I wouldn’t be worrying about what genes went into the mix.

Anyway, there was no turning back now, so I followed the instructions and did the swab thing straight away, then sealed it all up again to send off later when I went to the post office with my Wishes.

And at least I wouldn’t have to keep a lookout for Raffy that morning when I was out, because I knew he would be at Winter’s End. I’d seen him pass the window very early with his dog the previous day and again that day (surreptitiously, from behind the curtain, though he never even glanced at Angel Cottage), so it seemed set to become a regular habit.

That afternoon David was picking me up to go to look at a selection of country cottages, so with a bit of luck I wouldn’t even be in the same building when Raffy came to see Grumps, either.

On the way back from the post office I called in to see Felix, as usual, but then almost immediately wished I hadn’t, since all he could do was sing Raffy’s praises.

They were such opposites that it hadn’t occurred to me until then that they would get on so well, but by the time I’d listened to him waffling on about how you wouldn’t think Raffy had ever been famous because he was so ordinary (is he blind?) and how he felt he’d known him for ever, and how friendly he was, it was enough to make my coffee curdle.

Even more than Poppy, he thought I should have long recovered from my bit of history with Raffy and moved on, especially since he must have changed radically before being ordained.

If anyone else mentioned the words ‘forgive and forget’ to me after that, I swore I’d deck them. Reason and common sense be damned: I just couldn’t snap my fingers and say, ‘OK, let’s forget it!’ when even the very mention of his name made me go all bitter and twisted inside. And yes, I did know that was negative and damaging and I’d feel so much better if I let it go, but I just couldn’t do it.

I was also starting to feel very aggrieved about Poppy and Felix’s lack of empathy. These were my friends, and whether I was in the wrong or the right, they should be on my side and not be the devil’s advocate, even if he is cunningly disguised in a surplice. And I was still not convinced there wasn’t a Lucifer lurking inside there!

So I said one or two sharp things to Felix, who commented as I left that he’d never seen me quite like this, though he didn’t qualify exactly what he meant by ‘this’. But whatever it was, perhaps it would have started to make him think twice about my suitability as the right person to sink into middle age with, which would be a damn good thing.

Now I just needed to get him to switch his focus to Poppy instead, and vice versa. I wondered what she’d done with that love potion she got from Hebe Winter. Not that I believed in them, of course, any more than the power of Grumps’ magic; but still, if I could manage to get hold of it, there would be no harm in giving it a try, would there?

Raffy must have gone to see Grumps immediately after lunch, much earlier than I’d expected, because there was a knock on my door ages before David was due to pick me up and there he was, standing two steps down on the pavement and disconcertingly eye to eye.

The expression on his pale, chiselled features was guarded, though I noted that he seemed remarkably undisturbed considering where he’d just come from: but then, I already knew he was made of much less yielding stuff than Mr Merryman.

My automatic reaction was to slam the door in his face, except that he foiled that by leaning on it.

‘Chloe, can I come in? I think we need to talk.’

‘I don’t need a visit, thanks. I’m not one of your parishioners!’

‘No, I think I’ve already grasped the message that the Lyons aren’t churchgoers from your grandfather. But I would like to talk to you – please?’

If I hadn’t just at that point inconveniently remembered what the Angel cards said that morning and hesitated, then I’m sure he wouldn’t have managed to insinuate himself over the threshold. But somehow there he was, standing in the middle of the workshop and looking around him in an interested sort of way.

‘It smells delicious in here,’ he said appreciatively, ‘but I hope I’m not disturbing your work?’

‘No, I don’t make chocolate every day, and actually, I’m going out shortly.’

‘Oh? Then I won’t keep you long,’ he said, but he still didn’t seem in a hurry to come to the point of the visit. I had plenty of time to notice the changes in him: the fine lines on his pale, translucent skin, the resolute set of his mouth and square chin. Boy to man: the past and present Raffys seemed to coalesce into one before my eyes.

‘I’m told this used to be a doll’s hospital.’

‘It was, but now it makes a perfect chocolate workshop.’

‘Yes, your friend Poppy told me all about the chocolates, and then, of course, I’d already eaten one at the welcome party. Putting messages inside them is a brilliant idea. I’m not surprised business is booming.’

‘What did your Wish say?’ I hadn’t meant to ask that, it just sort of sneakily slipped out.

‘That I was never alone,’ he said simply.

‘No, you wouldn’t be: your conscience must talk to you all the time, for a start,’ I snapped, and he gave me an unfathomable look.

‘It does, but it also tells me that I can’t undo what I’ve done in the past, I can only change my future actions.’

‘Comforting,’ I said drily, but seeing he wasn’t about to leave any time soon I took him through into the sitting room and made hot chocolate, for my own comfort rather than his. I didn’t even ask him if he liked it, just made it the way I take it, dark and strong and full of flavour – no milk or honey to sweeten the brew.

He was standing at the window when I went back in. As I handed him the mug he said, ‘It’s lovely out there, like a secret garden. I can see you’re keen on geraniums, too.’

Since they lined the windowsill three pots deep, that didn’t take the deductive powers of a Sherlock Holmes. ‘Scented pelargoniums,’ I said, giving them their proper name. ‘I’ve got apple and mint and attar of roses, but I’m looking forward to getting a lot more when I have a bigger greenhouse to over-winter them in and—’ I stopped abruptly, on the brink of forgetting who I was talking to in my enthusiasm. ‘But you haven’t come to talk about gardening, have you? What do you want? And sit down, for goodness’ sake – you’re giving me a crick in the neck!’

He obeyed, perching on the edge of the window seat and taking a cautious sip from his mug. He’d haunted me for so long that it was hard to take in that he was actually there, big and solid, in my sitting room. I could see now that he was wearing a black T-shirt printed with a white dog collar, which gave the effect of the traditional garb, rather than the actual thing, which was a particularly Raffy touch, even though it still looked incongruous to me.

I felt like throwing something at him, possibly the hot chocolate, but instead I sat on the small sofa with my feet tucked under me and both hands wrapped around my mug for warmth, though I hadn’t felt chilly until just then.