The Recipe Box Continued...

'I understand you want Primrose Cottage, Miss?' called Ted over his shoulder, as the archaic, black taxi went lumbering along. He was inordinately proud of 'the Duchess', as he fondly called her, but it was only his consummate skill that kept such an ancient vehicle on the road. 'Don't get much call for taxis round here, so it's good to take her out for a jaunt this fine spring morning - no matter how brief. Are you staying long?'
'Only a few days. I guess you've heard...?'
'The sad news about Prue, you mean? Aye...indeed. No need to explain.'
For a moment, the pair of them sat in silence, remembering the kind old lady, each in their own way.
'Did you know, she always won more prizes for her cakes, every Summer Fayre, than the rest of the village put together. My Missus got to be quite jealous. Never did beat Prue's 'secret recipe'.'
'Oh, really? I wonder which that was? I know she must have had lots, from the days when she used to let me lick the bowls. Every one more delicious than the last!', said Carrie, and they both grinned companionably.
'Here you are then, Miss. Have you got a key?'
'Yes, the solicitor had been given one for me. Auntie was nothing if not thorough. How much do I owe you?'
'That's alright. Call it my welcome to the village.'
'You're very kind. I'll make it up to you somehow, promise.'

Carrie determined at this point to make at least two cakes as good as any Auntie Prue had made, one each for Bill and Ted; between them, they'd managed to allay her feeling of trepidation at returning to the village with no prospect of a warm welcome from Auntie Prue herself. As to which recipe to use, that could be a difficult choice. She wouldn't want to let her Auntie's reputation down by association!
Carrie waved her thanks, as Ted performed a rather miraculous three point turn in the narrow, cobbled street and headed back to his garage.

'Now, let's see if this works,' said Carrie under her breath, as she slid the shiny key in the lock. The door opened effortlessly and she gazed round the miniature entrance hall with delight. Sunlight dappled the pale, apricot-blush walls and lit a tiny hall table in pride of place against the wall. A gleaming copper jug and a porcelain dish stood on its mellow, well polished surface, alongside an envelope clearly marked 'Carrie Luscombe.'

'Dear Carrie', she read on the enclosed card, after putting her bags down next to the table.
'I wanted to welcome you to Primrose Cottage again, even if it's only with the paper kiss I can give you today....' X' ! There! Much love from Auntie.'
To the right, the cosy sitting room door stood ajar. Walking in, Carrie whispered 'What a dear she was' and, kissing the symbolic 'X' on the scented paper card, she placed it on the mantel shelf, next to a a quietly ticking, quartz movement clock, which only served to underline the fact that life goes on, no matter what.

Two chintz covered armchairs flanked the coal effect gas fire, which she lit, grateful for its instant warmth in the room which had already assumed an indefinable, unlived in air. Beneath the lattice window, prettily framed by matching curtains, stood the table she remembered from her childhood, exactly positioned for taking afternoon tea in the sun. She stood by it for a moment, gazing out at the peaceful village street where she had skipped and played with local children on each of the holidays she'd spent with Auntie Prue. Then, bringing herself back to the present, she decided on a plan of campaign. 'Right, first the kitchen and a cup of tea.'

To be continued...