Free The Chrysalid Conspiracy by A.J. Reynolds Page B

the bread trays outside in the yard and opened up the shop.
    After having shifted some of the heavier potted shrubs around she was beginning to wish she’d joined Nigel in his bacon sandwiches.
    Rayn arrived just after nine. She’d jumped at Lucy’s invitation to take a Saturday job helping Amelia in the shop. And she was actually getting paid! Apologising for being late, she explained that she had to feed the animals.
    “There’s Dexter and Daisy the rabbits,” she said, “and Jude and Gypsy the dogs, and Horace. He’s a horse.”
    “You have a horse? Why didn’t you tell me? Do you ride?” pestered Amelia.
    “Not really, he’s a bit too big for that,” said Rayn.
    “Too big? What do you mean?”
    “He’s a shire horse. You know, one of those really large ones. He pulls the caravan we live in.”
    “Wow, him I’ve got to see,” said Amelia, excitedly.
    “You can meet him tomorrow, but just watch your feet. He sometimes has a nasty streak with strangers,” warned Rayn.
    Just at that moment big, shiny 4x4 pulled up outside and a portly, middle aged man struggled out.
    “Huh oh,” said Amelia. “Talk about nasty streaks, here’s the original.”
    “Who he?” asked Rayn.
    “It’s Mrs Atkinson’s son for the wedding flowers. Would you mind helping him load please, Rayn? And remember – he’s a customer.”
    The man entered the shop full of his own portly importance in his green oilcloth coat and a flat corduroy hat, under which a large, red, clean-shaven face peered. There were no pleasantries
    “Is that it then?” he barked, glancing at the carefully laid-out bouquets and bunches of loose flowers at the other end of the shop. His piggy eyes settled on Rayn. “Come on then girl, get loading. I’m in a hurry.”
    Rayn looked at Amelia who, with a pleading grin, gently shook her head. Rayn hid her smile of rebellion and did as she was told.
    The job took several minutes and Rayn suffered in silence at his words of ‘encouragement’. As she carried the last of the flowers out, he again barked at her. “Come on girl, get a move on! I’m late for golf.”
    Rayn, who’d reached the point where she either had to hit him or say something, chose the latter option. She turned to him and Amelia’s heart folded in on itself.
    “I’m sure you can make up the time, sir. Your elderly mother shouldn’t take too long to unload at the church, even with her arthritis.”
    Amelia had told her about Mrs Wing Commander Atkinson, whose husband had apparently won the Second World War single-handed, and her obnoxious son.
    He glared at her. “Don’t be cheeky, girl. Is that everything?” he growled.
    “I don’t really know, sir,” she said, enjoying the skirmish.
    “Well, make up your mind then,” he demanded.
    “Yes sir. I used to be very indecisive, but now I’m not so sure.”
    It was the first time Amelia had ever seen someone’s whole face grind to a halt. The poor man was completely unable to cope with being confronted with such innocent insolence.
    Amelia watched as Mr Atkinson, keys in hand, turned to a smiling Rayn, pointed a finger, opened his mouth to speak, and thought better of it and drove quickly away.
    “RAYN!” shouted Lucy, her voice taking on a life of its own as she powered her way from her workshop. She was furious. “We get a lot of business through the church. I’d hate to lose it. Now I’ll have to ring up and apologise for my immature staff not understanding the delicate nature of Mr Atkinson Junior’s sensitive intellect.”
    “What intellect?” retorted Rayn. “I bet he thinks Plato is something you put Italian food on!”
    “I’m sure you are right,” said Lucy, “but I would be grateful if you would confine your remarks to an empty shop!”
    “I’m sorry, Lucy,” said Rayn, rather subdued. As Lucy turned away the girls heard her muttering. “‘Now I’m not so sure’. God I wish I’d said that. That man is the most…” The door closed cutting off