Chapter Thirty-Four
The One Where Karma isn’t a Chameleon
By Thursday evening, Kate had finished work, confident the events over the weekend would pretty much run themselves, with the individual wedding planners in charge and the efficient team at the hotel well-versed in their roles. She remained on-call, but in effect she was now off until Tuesday.
After dinner, with the fair weather continuing, she persuaded Mollie to walk down into the village. She’d had confirmation the tables, chairs and electrical equipment had been delivered to the manor earlier that day, but Kate was keen to check everything was in place on the harbour too.
Polkerran was bustling with visitors, sitting outside the restaurants and pubs or leaning on the harbour wall, tucking into their take-aways. The queue for the chippy snaked around the corner, children sat crabbing on the steps down to the water and the gulls dipped and soared, beady eyes watching for any discarded morsel.
There was a flashy red sports car parked outside Harbourmasters, with several people admiring it. The air was warm, a light breeze wafting across the bay and caressing Kate’s bare arms as they walked along the front, her eyes scanning every group of people in hopes of a sight of Dev.
‘Look, Mum.’
Mollie pointed to where Dickie the Chippy stood beside another of his excellent signposts, which had been inserted firmly into the hole which supported the harbourfront Christmas tree in winter.
‘It looks fantastic,’ Kate greeted Dickie warmly as they joined him. ‘I didn’t know you were making one for down here too.’
‘Well now, my lovely, off-cuts there’ll always be. What better use to put ’em to.’
There were three direction pointers sporting black lettering, one of which bore the words ‘Village Fayre’, another ‘Parking’ and a third pointing at the harbour, making it clear it was the perfect destination for ‘Gurt Tossers’.
‘Er, Dickie, do you think that’s quite—’
‘Kate!’
Anna waved at her from across the street as she and Oliver emerged from the bistro, Matt and Gemma in their wake, and they came over to join Kate and Mollie.
Oliver’s eyes narrowed as he read the sign, the edges of his mouth twitching on the last one, but before Kate could request Dickie replace it with something slightly less offensive, there was a commotion further along the harbour.
‘Come on,’ Matt urged them as he took Gemma’s hand and they hurried to the scene.
‘Bella! Wait.’
Six pairs of fascinated eyes watched as Bella swung around to face Alex Tremayne.
‘Wait? For what?’
‘I can explain. It’s all a misunderstanding.’
Bella put her hands on her hips as Alex fetched up in front of her, out of breath. ‘How… original. And just who was it that did this misunderstanding ?’
‘Not you or I. That’s all that matters. I was underestimated, don’t you see?’
‘Oh yes, I do see.’
‘Oh dear,’ Anna muttered to Kate. ‘Alex thinks he’s regained the upper hand.’
It was true, his expression had morphed from one of genuine desperation to assurance.
‘That’s better.’
Kate exchanged a swift glance with Oliver. Wasn’t he being a bit too patronising?
‘No, Alex. It’s not better.’
‘But I gave Mother permission to offer the manor back to that lot,’ he gestured towards where Kate and co stood. ‘When you came to see me in London the other day, I couldn’t believe it. You must know I did it for you, Bella.’
‘Aww.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘You did it for me ? That is so… ten years too late.’
Bella spoke clearly and precisely, inadvertently drawing the attention of a few people who were sitting on the benches or strolling along the harbourfront. ‘Let’s be honest. You did it to make yourself look better, because you thought – mistakenly – it would seem selfless. But you’ve never done anything for anyone else in your life. You’re a moron, Alex Tremayne, who doesn’t care about anyone but himself.’
Bella turned away again, but as she neared the jetty where the ferry normally docked, Alex grabbed her arm, swinging her around.
‘I’m changed. I mean, I am changing. For you.’
‘Poppycock,’ Bella retorted.
Kate glanced at Mollie to see how she was taking this, but her daughter was busy videoing the whole thing.
Placing her hand on the phone, Kate shook her head at Mollie, who scowled but stopped filming. In the meantime, Alex had resorted to putting on the charm, speaking rapidly but quietly.
‘Wish I could hear what he’s saying,’ Gemma whispered.
‘I can’t believe she’s even listening.’
A faint sound escaped Anna and they all drew in a collective breath as – her expression unfathomable – Bella took a step closer to Alex, then placed her hands on his chest.
‘Surely she’s not going to fall for— Oh!’
With a sudden shove, Bella pushed Alex full in the chest with both hands, and he toppled backwards, arms flailing, into the water with an almighty splash, accompanied by a spontaneous round of applause from those watching.
‘Oh, my God!’ Gemma threw Anna a panicked look. ‘Can he swim?’
‘Let’s hope not,’ Oliver drawled.
‘You’ve got to feel some sympathy for the fish, though,’ Matt added.
To Kate’s relief, Alex was striking out for the steps in a flashy crawl, somewhat impeded by his clothing but much to the amusement of everyone gathered round the harbour.
Bella, however, was already striding away.
Alex ran up the steps past the astonished faces of the crabbing children, his clothes clinging to his body, hair plastered to his head, but before he could chase after Bella, a hand landed on his shoulder.
‘Not so fast, young’un,’ proclaimed Jem, the harbourmaster. ‘Having trouble reading, are we?’
He pointed at the notice pinned to the wall:
No Swimming – fines payable
Alex brushed sopping hair from his forehead, glaring at the man. ‘Do you know who I am?’ he bit out.
Jem leaned back a little, hands stuffed into his pockets, his gaze roaming over Alex’s damp features. He turned around, his gaze taking in the holidaymakers and locals watching with interest.
Then, he pulled out a walkie talkie. ‘Kevern, lad? You there? Call the doc. Got a teasy incomer ’ere, don’ know his own name.’
‘And that,’ Oliver said succinctly, urging the others on, ‘is how the cove deals with Gurt Tossers.’
By Friday afternoon, everything was ready for Polkerran Point’s traditional summer fayre, and as Kate emerged from the stables at Tremayne Manor, she looked around with delight.
The festoons of fabric bunting supplied by the hotel danced enticingly in the light breeze, hanging between the trees and across the arched entrance to the manor’s forecourt.
Dickie’s wooden signs were in place, and the manor gardeners had positioned some large pots bearing summer blooms at the bases.
The local food and drink purveyors were busy setting up their stands inside the stables, their happy, chattering voices drifting out of the massive wooden doors and rebounding off the ancient stone walls in the courtyard.
Across on the expansive lawns, which afforded stunning views of the water beyond, were various pergolas and small marquees, all housing the various offerings pulled together by Kate over the past few months. Again, there was a plethora of activity, and she smiled faintly as she crossed the flagstones and headed for the gates into the lane beyond. It was such a warm evening, and Arabella could be seen instructing her staff to offer drinks to those still setting up.
Jean’s ice cream van was parked near the entrance, the chrome shining and the windows glossy from a vigorous polishing and the barbecue in place opposite.
Half a dozen members of the senior gig crew had volunteered to help out with the myriad of things that needed doing over the weekend, such as manning the car parks – armed with tins of change for those who preferred not to pay by App or card – carrying out stewarding duties and running the bar. The hotel had offered its own mobile prosecco cabin and agreed to staff it.
As she walked down into the centre of the village, Kate admired the floral displays. It was as though Polkerran was determined to shine in all its glory for the influx of visitors for their special celebration of all things local.
She passed Mrs Clegg’s mobility scooter, parked outside the Spar and sporting a short run of mini bunting between the handlebars and something that vaguely resembled a large crochet ice cream cone on the back, bobbing up and down as the wind caught it. There was no danger she’d get on the wrong one now.
Glancing at her watch, Kate headed over to the railing bordering the harbour. The squeals of happy children could be heard alongside the cawing of the seabirds, and as she watched, Tommy the Boat moored up with his last trip of the day, smiling customers spilling out on to the jetty, some heading straight for the ice cream shop, which remained open despite the evening’s approach. Unless she was mistaken, Kate was sure she saw Greg behind the counter with Jean, too.
She ought to head home, but the thought of the empty house – with Mollie staying over at Freya’s again – didn’t appeal, especially on such a beautiful evening.
The temptation to walk along the lane parallel with the water and past Harbourwatch was great however, and, after a moment’s inner debate, she gave in. Just to look at the house where Dev lived would increase her heart-rate tenfold. Didn’t it realise there was a six-knot speed limit in the cove?
Amused despite her inner sadness, Kate headed that way anyway. She would walk on the beach she’d grown so fond of, sit on one of the benches for a while and simply… be.
The weekend was going to be manic in a way she’d always enjoyed; she may as well savour this moment of calm.
When Kate reached the beach, it was still buzzing with holidaymakers enjoying the exceptionally warm evening. The cafe had stayed open too, serving a constant stream of ice creams, pasties and drinks. There wasn’t space on any of the benches either, but Kate found a piece of rock to perch on and tried with all her might not to crane her neck upwards to stare at Harbourwatch.
After a while, however, her bum became numb, and with the crowd not thinning at all, she set off back up the lane, but as she drew level with the tall, wrought-iron gates to Harbourwatch – propped open today – a car came towards her, and she stepped to one side, only to realise it was Ryther. She gave him a quick wave as the vintage green jag pulled into the driveway before continuing on her way, but barely had she gone a few paces when she was hailed from behind.
Ryther stood in the lane, beckoning her, and Kate reluctantly retraced her steps. He’d better not be about to—
‘Come on in! I haven’t seen you in a while, my dear.’
Desperately seeking an excuse, but not wanting to lie by pretending Mollie was waiting for her, Kate floundered.
‘Precisely,’ Ryther intoned, steering her through the gates and up the steps to the front door before she could summon a genuine protest or – more importantly – check her hair and make-up.