Chapter 8
8
The Hideaway, St Aidan
Bumpy roads and rocky mornings
Wednesday
T en girls at The Hideaway for a day? When I’d intended to be winding down not up! Not that I’m panicking when I rush off to Penzance to buy art supplies, it’s more that I’m investing in a bit of forward planning. Back in the day Milla would fold paper for England – it might be too much to hope she’d be thrilled to do it again, but if they’re feeling crafty, I could warm to a few origami seagulls strung across my wall.
I’m just edging my Mini past the hotel and along the lane on the way home, thinking that if paper birds were the extent of my accessorising, I could live with that too, when a figure leaps out in front of the car, waving their arms.
I mutter to Shadow as I wind down the window. ‘I’d recognise those snow-white sleeves anywhere.’ Then I arrange a suitably bright smile for the man himself. ‘Kit, how can I help? If there’s a woman in labour, I’m happy to take off my T-shirt.’ What the hell made me say that?
He runs his hands through his hair, which is more dishevelled than usual. ‘I’m afraid it’s way worse than unplanned childbirth – my ten o’clock appointment has gone AWOL.’
I glance at my watch, thinking he’s being overdramatic. ‘As it’s almost eleven they could be a no-show?’
‘People pay so much upfront, they always arrive. These two checked in at reception and then disappeared.’ The groan he lets out is very unlike him. ‘I so need this to go well, they’re influencers, with a massive following…’
‘High stakes then. You can’t afford to lose these two in the dunes.’
He frowns at me through the window. ‘Can I put my number on your phone, then you can ring me if you see them?’
I pass him my mobile. ‘Any distinguishing features?’ I’m not sure if the butterflies in my chest are due to the hollows under his cheekbones, or the novelty of someone giving me their deets, which hasn’t happened in a hundred years.
‘Man and a woman, in their thirties, impossibly cool – that’s as much as I know.’
It could be worse, at least they’re not fanny flutters I’m getting. ‘And very much in love, no doubt.’ I look at him over my sunnies and try not to sound cynical. ‘I’ll be in touch the moment there’s a sighting.’ But as I take back my phone, I’m not holding out any hope.
By the time I’ve wound up the window he’s running back towards the hotel and I carry on to my parking area, which is as windswept as usual, but otherwise empty. As I drag my shopping bags across the sand hills, Shadow is tugging ahead on his lead and I’m regretting buying so many heavy baking ingredients. Hands in the air, I admit I’m more worried about Saturday than I’m letting on – but if all else fails, M they were both blonde and Sophie liked to press her temple next to his to compare their hair colour. Mum was blonde too, but she never did it with her.
It must have been hard for Mum, on her own with two small girls. But she was fiercely independent and worked as many jobs as she needed to make sure we never went without, and she’s never really stopped since. Eventually she did up the cottage, sold it at a profit and stumbled on a way to marry her artistic side with her business savvy. Since then she’s done up a handful of properties up and down the coast, but because she’s so driven, she’s more likely to be up to her ears in building rubble than out enjoying herself.
Between us, I think our dad walking out put her off relationships. Even though she scrubs up great once she takes off her overalls, much to Nell’s frustration with her singles club agenda, Mum’s more likely to be out hunting the perfect colour of Annie Sloan chalk paint than chasing down a perfect guy. She decided thirty years ago that men were a waste of time and space, and no one since has given her reason to change that opinion. When it comes to dating, she insists that she has an open mind – but we all know she hasn’t. Even though she doesn’t go on dates, I’ll still be lucky to pin her down for next weekend.
As Shadow and I make our way towards the little gate in the picket fence I juggle the bags to let us through. ‘Every time we come back it feels more like home, don’t you think?’ Shadow wags in agreement, although to be fair he’s the kind of dog who wags at most things I say, and pulls towards the back veranda entrance that faces the lane. Just before we go in, I take a look along the dune tops and the reed clumps moving in the breeze. ‘No lost couples on this horizon.’
As the bags thud down on the kitchen floor, I’m pondering if I should text Kit to say I haven’t seen anyone, or is that an unconscious ploy to get my number into his phone? Then Shadow’s bark at the front window puts an end to my agonising.
I shout through. ‘Come on, Shadow, the sea isn’t that much nearer than it was when we went out. I’ll show you as soon as I’ve put things away.’ As his barks get more frantic, I abandon my bags of flour and sugar, but when I join him by the doors and look beyond the front deck railings I’m apologising. ‘Sorry, mate, you’re right again! I wonder if these are Kit’s lost clients?’
They certainly look beautiful enough to be. And they’re holding hands. I try not to let either of those things make me cross, because I can do without prickles on the back of my neck. Even if they’ve booked into the High Tides, they still look like they’re trying too hard for a blowy day in St Aidan.
The guy’s in an undeniably gorgeous vintage Burberry mac, and as he holds out his hand to greet me, his smile is warm (tick one) and he hasn’t got a hipster beard (tick two). ‘We’re Victor and Amery, what a wonderful place you have here.’ (Tick three, and that unexpected compliment confirms I’m going to do everything in my power to help them.)
The woman pulls her choppy blonde hair into a knot on top of her head, but it immediately escapes and blows across her face. ‘We thought there was no one home. I hope you don’t mind, we’ve been taking a few selfies by your fence.’ I hope her lovely foundation and perfect pink lippy are driving-rain-proof, because that’s what’s on the forecast for later when they should be lolling on the sand with Kit capturing their happy moments.
The guy joins in. ‘The boarding on your hut is so weathered and authentic, we had to come and inspect it up close.’
I shrug and glance at the peeling paint. ‘You don’t get any more genuine than this.’ Being praised for The Hideaway’s shabbiness is a whole new thing for me. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking – do you have an appointment at the hotel?’
They exchange glances, then the guy begins. ‘We do, but it’s a bit shiny for us there. We headed straight over here for a breath of fresh air and a burst of reality.’
The woman picks up the theme. ‘Neat isn’t really our thing.’ She takes a breath. ‘We run the V&A Vintage & Awesome social pages, so we’re all about old and battered.’
I can’t hold it in. ‘I love your cowboy boots.’ I’ve drooled over the same style myself on eBay. This pair are well worn and the hem of her swishy flowery cotton dress is billowing around them.
She pulls her bleached denim blazer close around her body. ‘Genuine Russell and Bromley Rockafellas.’ As she looks down at the scuffed suede and coils of studded straps she gives a shiver so big I have to ask.
‘Are you cold?’
She pulls a face. ‘My bad, gale-force winds were another not-so-good surprise.’ Her sigh is loud enough to hear above the crash of the iron-grey breakers. ‘When I talked Vic into this I was looking at pictures of a topaz sky with sea to match. With clouds and the ocean both black, I feel like I’ve made a horrible mistake.’
It bursts out of me. ‘Hell, no! Truly, you haven’t! Even on cloudy days Kit’s rings are amazing!’ I can sense these influential influencers are about to run, and however much I’d rather he wasn’t parading his lovey-dovey couples under my nose, I’m still going to work my socks off to stop these two slipping through his fingers. ‘Why not come in and warm up by the stove? You can have a hot chocolate while I locate him.’ It’s the last thing I want, but now it’s out there’s no going back.
With the promise of heat Amery’s tense expression eases. ‘If you’re sure you don’t mind, that would be amazing.’
Vic smiles too. ‘Could I take a few more close-ups of the beach hut too?’ He gives a grimace. ‘I’m not sure the hotel will give us the kind of shots our followers are after.’
Amery gives him a nudge as she follows me into my living room. ‘I know today should be about us, but sharing our life’s details are what we do, and our honesty makes us popular.’ Her face breaks into a big smile as she sits on the corner sofa and holds her hands out towards the wood burner. ‘Now this is the kind of place I imagined we’d be designing our rings.’
I message Kit as I heat up the milk in the kitchen.
Your ten o clocks are at mine.
I don’t want to be disloyal to Victor and Amery, but it’s only fair to warn him so I add:
They’re a bit cranky.
His reply pings back.
I’ll be straight across.
I don’t want to tell him what to do, but I can hint.
On my sofa waiting for hot drinks AWS. Suspect High Tides isn’t their bag – maybe bring your work stuff here?
Another ping.
Gotcha. Be there in two.
Let’s hope he means seconds not hours.
I take in Shadow’s look of horror as he watches me put a plateful of our newly bought favourite biscuits on the tray beside a jug of frothy hot chocolate and two mismatched cups. ‘Don’t worry – we’ll get more this afternoon,’ I say to him quietly.
Victor’s eyes light up as brightly as Shadow’s do when he spies the plate arriving on the table in front of Amery. ‘Teatime Assorted! The perfect retro choice for this mid-century home! Don’t touch anything until I’ve snapped them!’
I laugh. ‘Don’t take too long, or Shadow may expire.’ I give him a hard stare because he knows the rules. ‘No begging when we have visitors! And definitely no dribbling on their nice boots either!’
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that he’s frowning. Then, beyond his eyebrows, I spot movement on the deck. ‘Here’s another visitor!’ I smile reassuringly at Vic, who’s finally settling down beside Amery, and heave my own silent sigh of relief. ‘Kit’s here now. I knew he wouldn’t be long.’
As I open the French doors Kit strides across to meet the couple. He drops his laptop and camera bag on the bleached plank side table and shrugs off a dark overcoat he’s added since I last saw him. Cashmere on the beach? What is the man thinking? Except he’s right because it’s perishing for the time of year, which is the first thing he’s commiserating about with Amery and Victor.
I might as well step in and see if I can help to salvage the situation. Push Victor and Amery into committing before they have time to pull out. ‘As it’s blowing a force ten out there, why not discuss your designs and take any initial photos here?’ I already know the process. ‘Fingers crossed, the wind will have dropped by the time you get to dash across to Kit’s workshop to deal with the practical side.’
It definitely won’t, but no one needs to know that.
Amery takes my bait and jumps in. ‘We were hoping for matching rings with a hammered finish, in recycled gold, if that’s possible?’
‘Absolutely.’ Kit’s already next to Amery, his laptop open, the screens flashing up super-fast with the hotel’s superior WIFI signal. He looks up at me. ‘Great plan, Florence. And thanks for lending us your lovely beach hut for this morning.’ He smiles then turns back to Amery, who looks like she’s bursting with another question.
‘We will be able to come back here for afternoon tea?’
Kit’s agonised expression says it all as he turns to me. ‘How do you feel about that, Florence? Does that fit with you?’
I’m peering at the one teapot in the kitchen, thinking on my feet. ‘Obviously anything I’d do here would be much more simple than you’d get at the hotel – or you might enjoy the main branch of the Little Cornish Kitchen, which is very much your style and just along the beach.’
Amery’s eyes are open wide. ‘I know I’m biased, but your place is so cosy, and Vic’s photos are the best ! You’d feature on our blog even more if we had tea here!’
It’s years since I baked, but there’s something about their sheer enthusiasm that pushes me over the edge. ‘Would warm buttered scones and strawberry jam work for you? And a nice pot of Yorkshire Gold?’ Even I should be able to manage that. ‘I’ll work my alchemy here while you do yours next door.’
Kit’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Making wedding rings is science, Florence, not alchemy. There’s a big difference.’
It strikes me he might need to chill. Hang more loosely. Ditch the trouser creases and get that tight, gorgeous ass of his into a pair of ripped, bleached jeans.
And in case anyone saw that shudder, it was definitely a shiver due to the cold draughts seeping through the cracks in the hut, not a flutter where there shouldn’t be one due to that last unwelcome image in my head. I jump again as I hear my phone ping. It’s from Kit.
I owe you for this, big time. Name your price.
I blank out the vision of him lying on my bed as fast as it flashes in. My sex drive left the building years ago when I lost my ovaries, so that’s a doubly crazy thing to imagine. Yet another reason from the very long list of why dating for me is firmly off the table. When you’ve had surgery in the places that I have, in the unlikely event you did feel the urge, the practicalities were problematic too. If I wrote on my Tinder profile, Sex can be excruciatingly painful, I prefer to avoid it, I’d get swipe left every time .
I dip into the kitchen and hide behind the outsize double fridge so no one sees me tapping the reply.
You haven’t tasted the scones yet.
There’s another ping.
I’m sure they’ll be delicious.
Which is more than I am.
FFS Mr Ashton, stop texting me and deal with your clients!
Another ping I didn’t want to hear .
If this is you being assertive and professional I’m impressed. Or are you St Aidan’s secret dominatrix?
There’s no easy answer to that, so I change the subject.
My prices are astronomical, don’t forget.
Yet another ping.
Amery says please can we have sultana scones. I’ll go with that too.
I’m rolling my eyes .
YOU want a cream tea?
How else am I going to know if the baking is worth the extortion?
WTAF? This man is too much.
Get back to me tomorrow if it all goes well. Shadow and I are off to buy clotted cream.
Thanks! That last thought will see me through what could be a very stressful day.
Damn. I did not think that one through!
Don’t worry, Floss, you’re going to nail this x
I can’t be the only one who has to have the last word in a text exchange?
Back at ya x
As for those pesky x ’s, how did they come into this? And why did I follow suit?
But there’s no time to worry about that now! I need to get on Google and find some scone recipes!