Little Eden Read online

  Little Eden

  KT King

  All rights reserved. Copyright 2018 KT King

  No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic, or electronic process, or in the form of phonographic recording; nor may it be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or otherwise be copied for public or private use - other than for “fair use” as brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews or as part of a book club - without prior written permission of the author.

  The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any healing techniques as a form of treatment for physical or medical problems either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature. The author and publisher cannot assume responsibility for your actions.

  ISBN: 978 - 1 - 9164296 - 0 - 4

  A Magic Book opens the heart and expands the mind.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Recipes

  Arval Bread

  Carrot Cake and Ginger Cookie Muffins

  Brownies

  Ginger Snap Cookies

  Scones

  Join us in Little Eden

  Thank yous

  Footnotes

  London Gazette 29th December 2011

  Obituaries

  Lillianna Rose D’Or

  Beloved Aunt and Little Eden Trustee, passed away peacefully, after a short illness, 21st December 2011.

  Best known as Lilly Rose singer and stage actress, Lilly will be much missed by all the residents of Little Eden and by her fans from around the world. Lilly will be remembered for her loving kindness, her outstanding musical talent and for her lifelong charitable works within the town of Little Eden.

  A public Memorial Concert will be held at The Peace Gardens outdoor theatre, on 21st February 2012, in aid of the Little Eden Charities Trust.

  Advance tickets are available at www.littleedenlondon/concerts.com

  A private funeral will be held on January 1st 2012.

  The much loved No.1 Daisy Place Café-Bookshop, Little Eden, will continue under the management of her nieces, Lucy and Sophie Lawrence.

  Chapter 1

  ~ * ~

  It was a sad beginning to 2012 for the residents of Little Eden, and as it would turn out, it would not be a good year for the rest of mankind either - but more about that later!

  First things first…

  New Year’s Day was almost over as Robert Bartlett-Hart sat alone in his library sifting carefully through the mounds of newspapers which were strewn all over a capacious mahogany table. The sombre shadow of dusk began to seep into the clear blue January sky, and all at once multifarious reading lamps, scattered randomly amongst the furniture and piles of books, turned themselves on, in perfect unison. Robert poured another cup of tea from his Kyushu and sighed. He fought, ineffectually, with the oversized, dry, rustling broadsheets, trying to tame them by folding and flattening them the best he could. For posterity, Robert attempted to glue the numerous obituaries into the Little Eden archive (a huge, slightly musty, leather-bound book), but the scissors kept losing themselves amongst the unruly sheets and little scraps of paper kept sticking to his hands; no matter how much he tried to shake them off, they just re-stuck somewhere else!

  Robert’s silent contemplation was suddenly shattered by the brusque opening of the library door and his mother’s voice slicing through the peaceful air.

  “Did you find the obituary I asked Lancelot to put in the Kolkata Times?” Jennifer Bartlett-Hart asked him. She went straight to the large mirror which hung majestically over the sideboard and began adjusting her black, feather-laden hat. She caught sight of a picture of Lilly on the front page of Tatler magazine which lay amongst many others on the table. The magazine was running an old photograph of the glamorous stage star, Lilly Rose, from 1964. Lilly was posing in a ‘Vivienne Westwood’, wearing white go-go boots, long curling fake eyelashes, and her blond hair was peeking out from beneath a jaunty velvet cap.

  The headline read:

  “A celebration of the life of a Parisian Diva who became a very English Rose. Lilly Rose D’Or. Her life in pictures: pages 10 - 14.”

  Jennifer turned away to look in the mirror again. “Lilly hasn’t been Lilly Rose, star of stage and screen, for decades!” she huffed. “I doubt she even has any fans left who remember her! All this fuss and for what? She owned a Café for most of her life for goodness sakes and put on far too much weight eating all those afternoon teas. I don’t think that is much of anything to shout about.”

  Robert sighed and ran his fingers through his brown tousled hair. “Thousands of people come every year to her charity concerts, Mother, you know that,” he replied. “And she has been a Trustee with us for over twenty-five years, and a friend to us - all my life at least. I don’t know what we would have done without her all these years.”

  “I was the most beautiful woman in London once upon a time,” Jennifer replied, tilting the brim of her hat this way and that to make the most of her features. “I don’t suppose I will be on the cover of a magazine when I die. I had to give up any chance of fame to marry your father and have you boys.” Absently, Jennifer picked up a couple of newspaper clippings and added, “I hope you are nearly ready to go? Collins will be here any minute. Did you hear me Robert?” Jennifer looked admiringly at her long, manicured nails. “It’s just one funeral after another these days. It could just have easily have been me.”

  “They say only the good die young,” Robert said under his breath, trying, in vain, to get the glue off his hands.

  Jennifer took off her hat and rearranged her hair again, scowling into the glass. “I don’t see why your father insisted Lilly be buried with our family. Lillianna Rose D’Or or whatever she wants to be called this season is not family and never will be, and it is embarrassing for me! Your cousin Lancelot insisted on it. He can find a legal loophole when it suits him - but not when it suits me it seems.”

  Robert sighed again. “It was in father’s will, Mother; you know there was nothing anyone could do. We have been over and over it.”

  Jennifer grimaced, and wiggled her hips to prevent her black skirt from riding up her long, slender legs. “Your father went on about Lilly endlessly whilst he was alive; I never understood it. We always had to do whatever he wanted! What did he ever care about Little Eden? Off he goes to America with that floosy, Christabelle, without as much as a by your leave! Well! I am not going to go to this sham of a ceremony. The whole thing is just to embarrass me!” With that, she launched herself out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

  Robert shrugged, and raised a resigned eyebrow as he dolefully drank the rest of his, now cold, cup of tea, and continued to cut and paste.

  After the stomping and the banging of doors had finished, he could hear the sound of his brother, Collins, calling jo
vially from the hall, “Are you ready?” he called, “Varsity says we’ll be late if you don’t hurry.”

  “Varsity can wait!” Jennifer shouted down from the landing. She came tottering back down the stairs wearing a different hat and stiffly kissed her son on both cheeks. “Whoever thought of a memorial service in the evening? I ask you!” she complained.

  Jennifer stood on the bottom step of the stairs and started to rearrange her son’s clothing, brushing fluff off his black suit. “This is off the peg!” she said, in disgust. “Where did you get it? The fit is terrible!”

  “It’s ‘Lanvin’, Mother,” Collins replied. “Varsity picked it out.”

  “I don’t care!” Jennifer replied, straightening his tie. “You have perfectly good bespoke suits. Go upstairs and change. You left an Anderson-Sheppard here last week. Go and put that on. If only Robert had your looks and you had his sense of style - I would be less embarrassed to be seen with you both!”

  Collins smiled, and kissed his mother. “The fit is perfect, Mother. Only you would ever notice, no one else will.”

  Jennifer snorted. “Well those Lawrence girls certainly won’t notice such details. Lucy dresses dreadfully! They were far too self-confident when they were little girls and I don’t see much improvement over the years.” Jennifer fussed with Collins’ mop of blond hair and he tried to get away from her, afraid she might pull out a hanky and start dabbing his face at any moment! “Robert tells me Sophie isn’t feeling well and is staying at the Café indefinitely. She has some sort of fatigue. I ask you! Tiredness is an illness now, apparently! As if we are not all tired all the time! They are as bad as Lilly and your father with their freedom of speech and their women’s liberation and all that environmental nonsense. Robert’s in the library. There’s caviar on the sideboard - your favourite.”

  Collins nonchalantly kissed his mother again, flung open the large panelled door into the library and headed straight for the champagne and canapés. Collins admired his appearance in the mirror and then, turning to the table, he poked at the papers whilst he munched his aperitifs.

  “What’s all this?” he asked, in his usual casual manner.

  “The obituaries,” Robert responded, without looking up.

  “What all of these? Good god! You would think the woman was a saint.” Collins laughed, nearly choking on a piece of crostini.

  “I think she was,” Robert mused. “Or she should be!”

  Collins smirked, and looked at Robert in the mirror’s reflection. “I suppose I quite liked the old girl myself,” Collins admitted. “Baked a damn good cake! Shame she’s dead.”

  “Shame?” Jennifer retorted, marching through the doorway whilst pinning her third choice of hat on her head. “It’s no shame!” she said, pushing her son aside with her hip. “Move, Collins, I need to look in the mirror! Now, perhaps we can have some of the family money to spend for a change?”

  Collins downed another quick glass of champers and said, “Talking of money, Mother, I’m a bit short this month.”

  “So am I, my dear. Ask your brother! He holds the purse strings around here. He is the one who won’t let us have our own money! Always spending it on the poor or giving it to a charity. Well! Charity begins at home!”

  Wearily, Robert pulled on his long cashmere overcoat and replied soberly, “This is not the time to talk about money.”

  “Oh come on Bobby, old boy!” Collins said. “With Lilly out of the picture you can hand out the family fortune a bit more. I promised Varsity she could…” Collins paused and grinned, “F**k! Varsity! I left her in the car. She is probably steaming by now!”

  Jennifer surveyed herself in the full-length hall mirror. She smiled at herself again in the looking glass but only until she caught sight of Varsity, who was walking up the front steps wearing a magnificent silver fur coat and looking as if she had just finished a photo shoot for Vogue. Collins rushed out onto the porch, put his arm around his wife’s tiny waist and hastily ushered her back into the car.

  Robert escorted his mother to the Bentley. Jennifer slid onto the leather seat and into her best finishing school position. She greeted Varsity with a ‘good evening’ and a ‘you look awfully nice.’ She couldn’t help pouting at Varsity’s youthful beauty. To comfort herself, she checked that her finger nails were still in perfect condition.

  As the car passed by the end of Adam Street, the ice on the road was treacherous and Dyson, the chauffeur, was taking it slow. By the time they had reached the old Assembly Rooms, on the corner of Knight’s Walk, Jennifer had run out of things to say, so she began rooting about in her handbag for her hanky, pretending she was unable to find it, whilst Varsity occupied herself by refreshing her lipstick.

  Eventually, the car pulled up outside the gates of the graceful gothic Sainte Chappelle. It was a dark winter’s eve, but the street lamps gave a cosy glow to Dovecote Street and softened the harshness of the icy chill in the air. As Jennifer stepped out of the car she cockled over on the curb. Robert caught her just in time before she landed face down on the cobbles! She had expected to see some famous guests outside the Chappelle, but looking anxiously around she was relieved that no one was there. She took Robert’s arm and paraded up the lantern-lined path, to be greeted by the singular Reverend Sprott, who was looking rather chilly, but who had been determined to wait outside, in the high and very ornate porch, to meet and greet the Bartlett-Harts. Robert gladly gave his mother over to the Reverend Sprott’s care.

  The Chappelle was full of shadows - peppered with sudden bursts of flickering candle light. The glorious gold leaf of the majestic pillars seemed to be on fire, and the towering cobalt blue windows shimmered in a heavenly dance. The delicate, sweet scent of pale pink roses played amongst the deeper, muskier odour of beautiful bright white lilies. The melange of ancient church odours - a faint dampness of stone, wood polish, and carnal fresh flowers - invoked a shiver of ancient memories in the mourners.

  Tonight, this holy and most sacred palace of light played host to the friends and family of Lilly D’Or. Not least, to her two beloved nieces, Lucy and Sophie Lawrence, who were standing by a small table which was covered in flowers, bottles of water and a mound of pink crystals. The sisters had been greeting the many mourners for at least half an hour already.

  Jennifer air-kissed both girls and put on her best funereal face. “I am so sad,” she said. “Lilly was a great friend. I don’t know how I shall organise things without her. I know you are both grown up now, but I always think of you as little girls when you came here for the holidays…” Jennifer paused as she caught sight of the crystals and added in alarm…“Are you sure you should have those in here? Reverend, what do you think?”

  Sophie glared at her and turned to greet Robert, who gave her an affectionate hug.

  Lucy handed Jennifer a rose-coloured crystal and said, smiling, “God made the crystals too. These are rose-quartz; These are the gentlest of all the crystals, the very best for grief and overwhelming emotions. We have one for everyone who wants one, and there is Bach Flower Rescue Remedy®* in the bottles of water.”

  Jennifer tried to complain to the Reverend Sprott again about the blasphemy of using crystals in church, but he had already turned to talk to some of the other guests. “Well, I suppose it won’t do me any harm,” Jennifer conceded, reluctantly. “But I don’t want any funny water!” She turned away, looking for any guests from Hollywood or Broadway.

  Collins smiled at Sophie, “Well now, what are these things? Calm the nerves, do they? I use a bit of the old whisky myself!” He tapped his jacket pocket - revealing the sound of a metal hipflask underneath.

  Sophie offered them both a crystal. “It’s like a worry stone; something to hold during the service and to take home as a comfort,” she explained.

  Varsity took the crystal, and leaning forward out of earshot of Collins, she whispered to Sophie, “I have one of these at home and
a purple one too, but I don’t remember what it’s called.”

  “The purple one is amethyst,” Sophie whispered back. “It’s good for healing and protection.”

  “You must miss your aunt very much?” Varsity whispered again.

  Sophie frowned a little and could only manage to nod in agreement. She could feel tears welling in her eyes. Varsity was about to say something else when Collins suddenly grasped her around the waist and exclaimed, “Come on sexy! Mama wants us down the old family pew.”

  Robert bumped his shoulder gently against Sophie’s, and handed her his silk handkerchief to wipe away her tears. He was about to ask Lucy where her boyfriend, Jimmy, was, but before he could, a mountain of bouquets came crashing through the Chappelle doors.

  It was Linnet Finch, who, hidden behind a dozen wreaths and bunches of flowers, had burst through the doors, followed by her daughter, Alice, who was also laden down with armfuls of posies and baskets of flowers. Sophie managed to dive forwards and save a few bunches as Alice began to lose control of them. “Alice, be careful!” Linnet exclaimed. Alice’s hands, even in mittens, had succumbed to the cold.

  “Whoops a daisy!” Sophie said, gathering bunches of multicoloured flowers to her chest. “Good job there wasn’t any holly in these ones!” She smiled at Alice, who was looking distressed as she picked up several stray flowers off the floor.

  “I have never seen so many flowers - except in your shop. You’re doing a wonderful job, Alice!” Sophie told her. “Why don’t you keep this one?” Sophie offered. “It’s so pretty! A bouquet of gossamer butterflies instead of flowers, how wonderful is that? It’ll match your bedroom perfectly, and when you look at them you can say, ‘Lilly is sending me butterflies from heaven.’” Alice beamed and held the posy gently, as if it had suddenly transformed into real butterflies which might fly away at any moment.