The Curious Charms Of Arthur Pepper
69 year old Yorkshire widower Arthur Pepper gets up every day at 7.30am.He eats his breakfast, waters his plant, Frederica, and does not speak to anyone unless it is absolutely necessary. Until something happens to disrupt his routine.On the first anniversary of his beloved wife Miriam’s death, Arthur steels himself to tackle the task he’s been dreading: clearing out her wardrobe. There, hidden in a shoebox, he finds a glistening gold charm bracelet that he has never seen before. Upon examination Arthur finds a telephone number on the underside of a gold elephant charm. Uncharacteristically he picks up the phone.And so begins Arthur’s quest – charm by charm, from York to Paris and London and even India – as he seeks to uncover Miriam’s secret life before they were married. And along the way, find out more about himself.
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PHAEDRA PATRICK has worked as a stained glass artist, film festival organiser and communications manager. She lives in Saddleworth with her husband and son. The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper is her debut novel.
ISBN: 978-1-474-03792-1
THE CURIOUS CHARMS OF ARTHUR PEPPER
© 2016 Phaedra Patrick
Published in Great Britain 2016
by HQ, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Version: 2018-10-26
For Oliver
Firstly, hats off to Super-Agent Clare Wallace for her insight, expertise and all round loveliness. Also, to all at Darley Anderson for their warm welcome and support – especially Mary Darby, Emma Winter and Darley himself. Thanks also to Vicki Le Feuvre for early feedback.
Behind every book is a great editor and I am fortunate to have two of the best in my corner. To my UK editor Sally Williamson and to Erika Imranyi in the US, many thanks for your thoughtfulness, creativity and championing of Arthur. A special acknowledgment also goes to Sammia Hamer, who originally gave Arthur his home in the UK.
All the team at HQ and HarperCollins have been wonderful, with fantastic input from Alison Lindsay, Clio Cornish, Nick Bates and Sara Perkins Bran, to name just a few.
To friends who read an early draft of this book without rolling their eyes, thanks to Mark RF, Joan K, Mary McG and Mags B.
My mum and dad have always encouraged my love of books and reading, so to Pat and Dave – this couldn’t have happened without you!
The biggest shout out goes to Mark and Oliver for supporting me on every step on this journey, believing it was possible and for always being there.
Thanks also to my friend, Ruth Moss, whose bravery and spirit of fun I think of often.
Table of Contents
Each day, Arthur got out of bed at precisely 7:30 a.m. just as he did when his wife, Miriam, was alive. He showered and got dressed in the grey slacks, pale blue shirt and mustard tank top that he had laid out the night before. He had a shave then went downstairs.
At eight o’clock he made his breakfast, usually a slice of toast and margarine, and he sat at the pine farmhouse table that could seat six, but which now just seated one. At eight-thirty he would rinse his pots and wipe down the kitchen worktop using the flat of his hand and then two lemon-scented Flash wipes. Then his day could begin.
On an alternative sunny morning in May, he might have felt glad that the sun was already out. He could spend time in the garden plucking up weeds and turning over soil. The sun would warm the back of his neck and kiss his scalp until it was pink and tingly. It would remind him that he was here and alive—still plodding on.
But today, the fifteenth day of the month, was different. It was the anniversary he had been dreading for weeks. The date on his Stunning Scarborough calendar caught his eye whenever he passed it. He would stare at it for a moment then try to find a small job to distract him. He would water his fern, Frederica, or open the kitchen window and shout ‘Gerroff’ to deter next door’s cats from using his rockery as a toilet.
It was one year to the day that his wife had died.
Passed away was the term that everyone liked to use. It was as if saying the word
