Saving Saffron Sweeting Read Online Free Page A

yawned
back, starting to arrange pillows on the sofa.
    ‘Grace, it’s perfect! It’s a village named
after sugar. Definitely give it a try. After all,’ she beamed
at me, ‘how bad can it be?’

CHAPTER 3
    It’s a good thing Jem was no longer
breast-feeding, as our red wine consumption that evening would
probably have got Sebastian drunk too.
    However, by ten the next morning, we were only slightly
hung-over as she drove me to a local car rental office. Squeezed
between a launderette and a branch of Barclays bank, they appeared
to have just three cars outside. Sure enough, I got the
midget-sized jaunty yellow one. Never mind: it would use less
petrol and inflict less collateral damage whenever I tried to park
it.
    ‘Are you okay?’ Jem looked anxiously at my pale face
as I heaved my suitcase from her Mini.
    ‘Yes, I think so.’ I tried to keep my voice brave
and normal. ‘Seeing you has helped no end.’ I
wasn’t generous enough to include Sebastian in this
compliment. He was, of course, now sleeping angelically in his car
seat, recovering from his nocturnal wailing which had roused Jem
multiple times. I had been glad of my freebie airline earplugs and
had stayed welded to the sofa bed.
    ‘I’m still not quite sure what the plan is,’
Jem said, as we made a cursory attempt to check my car for
scratches.
    Our tipsy map reading of the night before had degenerated into
finding English villages with silly names. We’d started with
Six Mile Bottom and progressed via Ugley to Piddletrenthide.
    ‘Well,’ I smiled, ‘Bacon End was tempting, but
on balance I think Saffron Sweeting just has the edge.’
    ‘Really? You’re actually heading for a place
you’ve never been? I was just mucking around last night, you
know.’
    ‘It’s okay, I’m pulling your leg. I think
I’ll drive up through Cambridgeshire on the quieter roads,
and maybe stop for a look at some of the villages. If they’re
all horrible, I’ll swallow my pride and call my
mother.’
    Jem handed me last night’s road atlas and a Kit Kat.
‘Okay, well, phone me, wherever you decide. And let me know
when you’re ready to meet for afternoon tea.’
    ‘Absolutely. Say hi to Harry.’ I leaned into her car
and gave Seb a parting wave. Jem gave me another of her big hugs
and I squeezed her back in silent thanks.
~~~
    I don’t believe in fate, or omens, but I
admit that sometimes life moves in mysterious ways. Despite our
antics of the previous evening, I had no intention of spending the
night anywhere with a wacky name. Things didn’t quite work
out like that, though.
    The London skies had been smoggy and oppressive, but as I turned
off the M25 to head north, the sun came out and I could appreciate
the green countryside. At Bishops Stortford, I left the motorway
and continued on the old Cambridge road. The gentle winding from
village to village was a soothing change of pace. Uneven hedges and
lush fields lined the road, a few rabbits were playing on the
verge, and I passed handmade signs including
Pick Your Own
Strawberries
and
Village Fête Saturday.
    By the time I reached Saffron Walden, I was ready for a break
and some elevenses. I already knew the bustling market town was
named from growing the saffron crocus, which yielded an expensive
yellow dye. In our research the previous night, Jem and I had
learned that Saffron Walden’s success had overshadowed
Saffron Sweeting’s earlier fame. By the seventeenth century,
the newcomer was dominant while Saffron Sweeting languished.
I’m pretty sure yellow dye is no longer a big part of Saffron
Walden’s economy, but it still enjoys a cheerful
affluence.
    Having inched my appropriately saffron-coloured vehicle into a
parking space, my first purchase was a new phone. My US cell phone
always refused to work in England and, in any case, a different
number would mean James couldn’t call. To be honest, I
desperately wanted to know if he had tried to reach me, but I
squashed that thought and headed for