The Heirloom Obsession Read online

  As she opened her front gate, she moved the heavy trunk to her other hand and slowly made her way to the front door. She noticed a white van drive slowly out of the cul-de-sac; strange for delivery vans to be here on a Sunday, she thought, as she retrieved her key and slid it into the lock.

  The heavy red door swung open, and Toby rushed past her with his purple plush toy hanging from his mouth, heading straight down the hall to the kitchen and his bed to play with his latest prize. Placing the trunk just inside the door, she pushed the front door closed. Following Toby down the hall to the kitchen and flicking the coffee machine on, she strolled to the front room to check her answering machine. The red light blinked one new message repeatedly at her; it was probably just Sarah her sister checking up on her. “First a coffee, before I deal with you”, she mumbled to herself, deciding a coffee was exactly her next priority.

  Having poured a steaming cup of coffee, Melody took a seat at the big kitchen table placed in the centre of the kitchen; it was just the same as her grandmother had left it. Memories of sitting here with her grandmother, helping her with a sewing project or chatting about her day whilst tasting her latest batch of cookies filled Melody with an overwhelming sense of loss. She could almost hear her grandmother’s voice telling her about the gardening she had been doing. Smiling, she noted the small vase of flowers from the garden sitting on the table, a tradition of her grandmother’s that she still enjoyed doing. “Flowers are blooming well this year, gran”, she sighed.

  She stole a contented look around the kitchen; the big windows above the sink dominated the room, letting in the afternoon sunshine, bathing everything in a homely glow. Old floral curtains hung on each side of the windows, a lone pot plant the only item on the windowsill. Once, it would have been crammed full of pots with an array of cuttings her grandmother so fondly loved to grow, the memory making her smile sadly. Turning her attention elsewhere, she spied the various plates and mismatched crockery displayed on her grandmother’s large kitchen dresser, standing tall beside the old utility doorway and the hall door. Glancing at the old backdoor, where the sun was pouring in through the glass panels highlighting the chipped and peeling paint, and making a mental note to add that chore to her growing list of things to do, she sighed. The large double doors leading from the kitchen to the front room was almost always wedged open and made the area feel open-planned and bright. Maybe a lick of paint in there would be a good start, she mused gazing into the front room at the dingy magnolia walls.

  She had lived here for eight months now, and it was still mostly decorated as her grandmother had left it. Not having the heart to change the look of her grandmother’s well-loved home, but maybe it was time she gave it her own touch.

  Watching absent-mindedly as Toby lay in his bed by the back door snuffling the toy, every now and then raising his head to check she was still there with him. “It’s okay boy, I’m still here”, she reassured him taking a sip of her coffee. Reaching for her bag, Melody pulled out the ornate silver peacock scissors she had purchased from the boot fair; these really would look good in her new window display. She had a few peacock feathers in the storeroom, and some beads and silks that would make for a stunning display. As she sat formulating her plans for the shop window, Toby let out an excited yap; looking up, Melody saw the back door swing open.

  “Hi Mel, it’s only me”, Alex announced as he walked in. Dropping his basket of vegetables onto the table, he reached down and ruffled Toby’s head.

  Alex had moved into the cottage next door shortly after Melody had moved in; they had struck up a fast friendship. She learned that he had established a second branch of his successful security company Knight & Brooks with his best friend, Joel Brooks, situated in the heart of town, and by all accounts it was doing well. He had been looking for a new start and a quieter way of life, having been widowed two years earlier, and had finally realised that life in the big city held no sway for him anymore. His quickly learned vegetable gardening and odd job skills had been enjoyed by them both; he had helped Melody with several jobs around her home.

  “I thought you might like a few early veggies for some of your delicious soup making”, Alex grinned to himself, he was sure of getting an invite to partake of Melody’s meal later that evening.

  Melody watched as Alex unloaded the freshly picked vegetables onto the draining board. At six foot three, he seemed to fill Melody’s small kitchen, his denim jeans clung lovingly to his muscled legs and tight bottom, his t-shirt pulled tight over his broad shoulders, his dark brown hair worn just a little too long in a slick back undercut style, still damp from his shower. His grey blue eyes had been the first thing that had caught Melody’s attention, when he had first introduced himself as her new neighbour.

  It was now becoming a habit, having Alex appear at her back door with armfuls of produce, or his tools to fix something she had not realised needed fixing. “Well”, Alex stood, looking expectantly at her.

  Blushing to her roots, Melody realised she’d been caught staring at him. “Sorry, what did you say”.

  “Think the veggies here pass muster”? Alex repeated, grinning, his eyes sparkling at her blush.

  “Oh yes, they are great, you must come over tonight to try them, I was going to make a roast chicken, if you’d like”?

  Alex reached out his hand and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Sounds lovely Mel, want me back around six”? Melody held her breath, her heart beating excitedly; she wanted him more than he knew.

  “Six is great; I have a few things to sort out before then, so that should give me plenty of time”.

  “Six it is then”, he grinned making his exit; as he left Melody sat staring at the back door.

  “He really should come with a health warning”, she muttered, looking at Toby who seemed to be missing him too. “Now enough daydreaming, time to deal with my answerphone”, she chastised herself firmly, rinsing her coffee mug and putting it on the draining board.

  The call to her sister Sarah had been a long one; her brief message on the answerphone was just as Melody suspected, Sarah was calling to check if she was ok. Stretching her shoulders, Melody decided if there was one thing her sister could do, it was to talk for Britain! She had agreed to call in and see her the following week with Toby. Melody, for what seemed like the hundredth time, insisted she was fine and didn’t need anything. Sarah did seem to worry since her grandmother had died, now that she lived alone out in the countryside; the fact that it was only a ten-minute drive from town, not really registering with Sarah. Reassuring her that she would bolt the doors at night, and that Toby was on guard seemed to calm her sister down. Talk of Lucy’s party dress and the fabric she had bought consumed the rest of the conversation. Wearily, Melody replaced the phone. Glancing at her watch, she let out a sigh; a quick look through the trunk, and then she would have to start preparing dinner.

  Placing the old trunk on the kitchen table, Melody ran her hand lovingly over the lid. She fingered the faded gold lettering CET. “I wonder who you belonged to”, she mused aloud, noting the many scuffs the old trunk bore. The brown leather trunk was in need of restoration.

  “A little leather, oil and you’ll be good as new”, she sighed. Releasing the latches, she slowly raised the lid. Here in her sunny kitchen, the contents seemed to be almost bursting out, the deep gold of the gown almost looking like a rich honey colour; lifting it out, she placed it carefully over the back of a kitchen chair. The tight bodice cut with a sweetheart neckline, and puffed capped sleeves, with a dropped waist, the full skirts flaring out at the hip, the delicate blue green embroidered flowers twining around the dress, a vast contrast to the gold material.

  Reaching back into the trunk to retrieve the next dress, Melody’s fingers brushed onto something hard underneath it. She pulled back the dress and folded into its skirts, sat a cloth bag. Reaching out to it, she slipped it from the folds, tipping its contents onto the table; she watched as three old brown leather-bound books, and two letters
tied neatly with a red silk ribbon tumbled out. Reaching for one of the books, she looked at the inscription, in the same flowy script that was on the trunk. She saw the initials CET, the other two books held the same identical gold script initials.

  Opening the book, the first page looked aged and was yellowing around the edges. Scrawled across the page, was a name penned in black ink in flowy handwriting “Journal of Christina Elizabeth Trafford, 1952”. Melody felt a frisson of excitement; turning the page for the first entry, Melody held her breath, a feeling of trespassing into someone’s life left her feeling uncertain. Shaking off this absurd feeling, she decided to read the page. After all, this was her property now, she had every right to read it.

  “June 9th, 1952

  “Today, father and mother have presented me with this rather nice journal. They want to give me a chance to capture my thoughts, in aid of me regaining my memories. I still have no memory of my eighteenth birthday party, which was held for me two days ago, or indeed the weeks leading up to it. No-one is permitted to divulge any information on my lost days, as per our doctor’s instructions. Even the staff is avoiding me. They are all treating me like a fragile invalid, and it is all I can do not to let my temper go! I have been delegated to my room while I recuperate; the lump on my head is still unsightly and very tender. Mother thinks it wise for me to keep a low profile; they have invited my younger cousin Primrose to stay and keep me company. I wouldn’t mind but we have never been close. She is only thirteen and I’ve always found her to be a cold, spoilt child, but mother insists it will be good for me and I can find no good excuse to refuse. In a few days, I will try to persuade father into letting me take a walk in the gardens. I shall make a detour and go to the stables to try and see Jack; maybe he can help me recall some of my missing memories. A rather strange mood seems to have descended over the household. I am quite certain I have heard raised voices from downstairs on more than one occasion”. Christina.

  Melody sat down onto the kitchen chair, placing the journal on the table, its un-folding story holding her mind in rapture. If only she had time to read more, but she had so much to do. Unpacking the rest of the trunk’s contents, Melody smiled to herself. “Well Christina, you really had good taste in clothes”. Taking the four gowns through to her craft room, Melody hung three of them onto her clothes rail. She would decide what to do with them later, although the rose-pink one with tiny rosebuds around the satin bodice neckline and a few on the front of the full tulle skirt hem held her gaze; the thought of trying it on and wearing it an exciting prospect. The gold gown she placed onto her mannequin; she would start unpicking the seams of that dress tomorrow, to prepare it for making Lucy’s party dress.

  Gathering up the remainder of the trunk’s contents, Melody made her way to the front room and placed the journals and letters inside the bureau; she would get back to reading them later, she promised herself. Taking the trunk, she pushed it behind one of her grandmother’s overstuffed sofas, which was situated in front of the front room window. She would retrieve it tomorrow to take to the shop for her latest window display. Lastly, she looked at the porcelain doll, still wrapped up in an old shawl; this she placed onto the matching overstuffed floral armchair, arranging the shawl so now its face looked out into the room.

  “I bet you have stories to tell”, she muttered, casting the doll one last look before heading into the kitchen to prepare dinner.

  After showering and slipping into a comfortable pair of jeans and soft white cotton t-shirt, Melody sat at her dressing table. Pulling her Blonde curls into a high ponytail and applying a little mascara and some rose pink lip gloss, she looked once again at her reflection. Satisfied with her attempt, she decided to leave her freckles untouched, and headed once more for the kitchen.

  Leaving the back door open after letting Toby out into the garden, Melody checked on the vegetables; pulling down Toby’s food bowl, she emptied some left-over pasta into it and mixed in a scoop of kibble. As the kibble poured into the bowl, Toby came racing in from the garden, skidding to a stop on the rough tiled floor.

  “Toby sit”, she commanded, as he happily obeyed; she placed his bowl down next to his water. “Take”, she smiled as his face disappeared into his food, snuffling and crunching his food as his tail wagged back and forth.

  “Something smells good”, Alex announced as he stepped into the kitchen from the back door. “I brought us some chilled white wine to go with dinner”. Holding out the bottle for Melody to inspect, he leaned in closer to her.

  “Oh a chardonnay, my favourite, let me get some glasses”. Brushing past Alex, she reached up to the overhead cupboard and produced two wine glasses.

  Alex pulled the cork screw out of the draw. “Shall I pour”? She looked across at Alex, his lopsided smile made her heart flutter. They had been dancing around each other for months now with easy banter and a mutual attraction; she just was not sure who would make the first move. He was everything she wanted in a man but knowing he had only been a widower for two years, kept her from crossing the line of friendship; what if he was not ready. She would hate to make their friendship awkward. At 34 years old, she knew Alex was happy with his situation. He was finally settling in next door, maybe she could nudge their relationship forward soon.

  Melody handed him the glasses. “Sure, why don’t you take them and make yourself comfortable in the front room, I’ll just check the dinner and follow you in”. Alex strolled into the front room and after pouring two glasses of wine, he placed the wine bottle onto the coffee table, settling himself onto the couch. He watched Melody through the wide-open double doors of the front room as she opened the oven to check on the roast. Even in jeans and a plain t-shirt, she got his pulse racing; how long would she keep him at arm’s length. He had not been looking for romance when he had moved out of the city, but he felt pleased it had seemed to have found him, he hoped.

  From Melody’s golden blonde curls to her fluffy penguin slippers, he knew she was perfect for him. He had lost count how many times he had longed to kiss her sweet full lips, sometimes watching her as she puzzled over something and absent-mindedly bit her lower lip. He had never thought he would feel this way again after his wife had died, but time had healed his broken heart and since meeting Melody, he had felt his heart stirring to life again.

  At her young age of twenty-six, he knew she had shared the pain of loss also; with her parent’s sudden death only a few short years ago in tragic circumstances, and more recently with her grandmother’s passing, he knew it had left her reeling and lost. This mutual loss had bonded them over the past few months.

  “Everything okay Alex”? Looking up, he smiled at her; she was hesitating in the doorway.

  Alex grinned. “I was just wondering Mel, what’s with the scary doll”? He pointed at the chair opposite.

  Melody sank down onto the sofa next to him; taking a large gulp of her wine, she turned to face Alex. “I found it in a trunk I bought at the boot fair today, along with some incredibly old gowns and some journals. I’m considering giving it to my niece Lucy”.

  Alex reached his hand out and stroked a finger down Melody’s cheek. “You did huh, don’t you think it might scare her”?

  “What’s so scary about a porcelain doll? I think she’s quite pretty”.

  “It’s the eyes, Mel, they seem to follow you everywhere”. As if on cue, Toby let out a menacing growl; looking up, they saw him stalking up to the chair eyeing the doll, his hackles up.

  “Oh, you two are as bad as each other”, Melody laughed, rising from the sofa and scooping up the doll. “Let me save you both and put her away”. Wrapping the shawl around the face of the doll, Melody put her in the writing compartment of the bureau. “Now, are you both satisfied”? Melody teased rolling her eyes.

  Alex reached up and pulled her down onto the sofa with him. “No”, he growled pulling her into his embrace. Melody reached up and put her hand on his face, feeling his strong jaw, rough to the touch, his stubble grazing her
fingers, the heady smell of his aftershave and soap still lingering. Looking into his piercing grey blue eyes, she felt drawn to him; holding onto his arms, she could feel his muscles flex. As they kissed, she felt herself melting into him. It felt so right, the passionate kiss was all she dreamed it would be; dinner was all but forgotten.

  Melody walked around, checking the house was all locked and secure for the night, still dazed about the kisses she and Alex had shared. He had helped her salvage the dinner and even helped with the washing up. They had not spoken about the kiss, but had now both acknowledged their mutual attraction; easy banter had resumed much to her relief. Promising to call in after work the next day, Alex had left late that evening. The kiss goodbye had been almost tender with a promise of more to come.

  Checking that Toby was settled in for the night, Melody headed for the stairs and bed; stopping on the first stair she remembered the journals. Reaching the bureau, she pulled out the letters and one journal. Pulling the writing compartment down, she retrieved the porcelain doll and smiling to herself at the thought of Alex’s comment about the doll looking scary, she headed up to bed.

  Glancing around her bedroom, she felt pleased once again at her decision to make this room her own. The walls now painted the lightest shade of lemon looked warmer in the light from her lamps on her newly purchased white scroll legged bedside tables, her matching dressing table and stool seemed to fit in so well with the old cottage style bedroom. The curtains were now drawn, revealing the dainty forget-me-not flowers in a watercolour style pattern. The material she had purchased from her first car boot fair, she had had enough of the material leftover to cover her dressing table stool too. It still gave her pleasure to know she had made good use of her sewing skills; this really was starting to feel like home.