Chapter Fifteen
‘Matt, darling. To what do I owe this honour?’ Sybil held open the door of Rosemergy Cottage to let him in out of the rain. Over a week had passed since he’d rescued Zennor and he hadn’t been up this way since that afternoon.
Thanks to the full force of the storm blowing in off the Atlantic, Matt’s hair and sweatshirt were already wet from the short dash from his car.
‘Is it an honour?’ he asked, wiping his boots on the doormat.
‘It’s always an honour to see my godson,’ Sybil said, closing the door. The roar of the wind dimmed, muffled by the thick stone walls.
‘I can never tell if you’re being sarcastic,’ Matt said, pecking her on the cheek.
She hugged him warmly. ‘I like to maintain the mystique but it is always lovely to see you.’
He noticed the dirt trail he’d left in the hall. ‘Should I take my boots off?’
‘Wow. That’s the first time you’ve ever offered to do that. You used to tramp in here, leaving all kinds of crap over my nice clean floors.’
‘You never told me not to.’
Sybil rolled her eyes. ‘Come on through.’ She ushered him into the kitchen at the rear of the house. ‘Do you want a coffee?’
‘Tea would be good if you’ve got any. The bog-standard kind if possible.’
‘If you mean the disgusting crap you drink on building sites, I’m not sure I have any.’
A few minutes later, he was sitting on a settle next to the oak table, with a steaming mug of some kind of herbal tea in front of him. Sybil also produced a slice of caraway seed cake.
‘You still make this?’ he asked, his mouth watering at the fragrant cake.
‘Sometimes. You struck lucky as I didn’t know you were coming.’
Matt ate a chunk of the cake while Sybil removed the tea bag from her mug. The tea was a lemony green colour with a strong scent. Not his thing at all.
‘Were you just passing?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Kind of. I was on my way to check the plaque for Grandad. The club committee want to call it the Harry Veryan Clubhouse.’
‘Oh, how lovely!’ Sybil’s eyes lit up. ‘He’d love that.’
‘I’m not so sure. He didn’t like a fuss.’
‘But he’d be proud, nonetheless. How’s the clubhouse renovation going?’
‘Good. We’ve already stripped out and refitted one of the changing rooms and the walls have been reskimmed.
We’re hoping it’ll all be done for the relaunch though it’ll be tight.
And there’s a painting party scheduled for the weekend after next so that everyone has a chance to get involved in the renovations.
Dawn thought it would be good for members to take ownership of the refurbed clubhouse. ’
‘Um … I’m so terribly sorry but unfortunately I’ll be resurfacing my cauldron.’
Matt had to smile. ‘I thought you might be busy.’
‘Actually I am. I’m appearing at a literary festival as part of the folktales afternoon. Painting isn’t really my forte, as you can tell from the Shack.’ She waved her hand at the blue walls with their hand-painted stars. Matt had always secretly liked them.
‘I think your skills would brighten up the clubhouse no end. But if you’re otherwise engaged …’
‘Seriously, it sounds like a lot of fun. Painting by committee.’
‘I liked Dawn’s idea that the whole club should be involved in the renovation, rather than me arranging for contractors to do it.’
Sybil laughed. ‘Even if they might have to come and fix it later.’
‘I’m prepared for that.’
‘How do your mum and dad feel about all your work on the club? And it being in honour of your grandad?’
‘They’re pleased. They wish they could come over to see it but it’s such a journey from Australia. Sometimes I wonder if I should have emigrated too.’
‘No, you don’t,’ Sybil said tartly.
He pushed his empty plate away. ‘Well, I think they worried that me returning to St Ives was a backwards step.’
Sybil didn’t answer but reached for her mug and sipped.
He glanced out of the window at the rain lashing the panes as if it wanted to punish the house into submission. The sea was steely grey, whipped up into a frenzy by the wind.
‘Summer in Cornwall, eh?’ Sybil said before returning her attention to Matt. ‘Good job it wasn’t like this for the Magic Lantern Festival. I thought you might have gone there yourself.’
‘No. I – thought about it – but I was too busy.’
‘You mean you didn’t want to seem to be following Zennor around?’
‘In a way. I had no reason to be there. The thing is, though, I have heard a rumour. I don’t think it can be true but when I was at the Surf Club, I heard Vince Horobin – you know, the chief instructor – telling Dawn he’d seen Trev at the festival.
Vince is an accountant and did Trev’s books at one time so it’s unlikely he’d make a mistake.
I thought I’d check with you, in case you’d seen him? ’
‘Hmm … your man Vince was right. Trev was there. In fact, he came to my performance. He was standing at the back and he was talking to Zennor.’
‘What?’ Matt started, sloshing tea over the tabletop and splashing his jeans. ‘Shit. Sorry.’
Sybil shoved a tea towel at him. ‘Here, mop it up with this.’
He dabbed at his jeans and wiped the tabletop, already regretting his overreaction. ‘What for? Why the hell was he with Zennor?’
‘I don’t know. I could hardly interrogate them while I was taking my bows. I don’t even know if Zennor realises I saw them, but I think they went off afterwards for a drink.’
Matt swore under his breath.
‘I’m sure she wasn’t expecting him. I was doing my show, so I couldn’t tell what was going on, but she hasn’t mentioned him to me.’
‘Jeez. What does he want? Why is he even here?’
‘Apparently, he’s bought the St Piran’s Spa.’
Matt bit back a swear word. ‘No way. No frigging way.’
‘I’m afraid it’s true.’
‘Shit. And Trev’s after Zennor again, is he?’ Matt blew out a sharp breath of contempt.
‘I don’t know what he wants.’
‘Does Zennor?’
Sybil sighed. ‘I wish I hadn’t even mentioned it to you. I only did so you don’t hear it from someone else first. I realised you’d be … taken aback and need some time to process the news. I probably shouldn’t even be talking about it.’
‘Thanks.’ He found it impossible not let his anger at Trev’s return seep into his tone.
‘I don’t expect you to be grateful for anything I ever say or do, but on this occasion, please don’t shoot the messenger. Apparently, his mum died last autumn and left him some money and he’s bought the hotel with it.’
‘And he randomly decided to buy the hotel where he and Zen got married. I hadn’t realised his mum was that loaded.’
‘Neither did I, to be honest. Does it bother you?’
He snorted. ‘The money? No, of course not. That sort of thing never has.’
‘Are you sure?’ Sybil asked.
Matt was aware that part of his motivation to succeed had been because of Zennor. He had wanted to prove himself.
‘I am genuinely sorry about his mother’s death. I would never wish loss on anyone and he can do anything he wants with his money for all I care.’
She arched an eyebrow. ‘Except buy the hotel – that hotel?’
Matt curled his lip to deny it and then muttered, ‘I don’t know. It seems – so bloody convenient.’
‘Well, it will hardly endear him to Zennor if that’s what you’re worried about. She must be thinking the same thing. I have no idea what she and Trev spoke about and it’s none of my business anyway.’
‘It’s none of mine, either.’
‘Yet you’re obviously upset about it. I think you have to talk to her.’
He snorted. ‘And tell her everything? Like how I feel?’
‘If you need to. You should.’
He hesitated for a moment; then he said, ‘No. All of that is in the past. It’s too late. The best thing I can do for Zennor is to leave her alone. I just hope Trev does too.’
‘Now you’re forewarned. Please be careful. Be sensible.’
‘Me? Be sensible?’ He scoffed, saying, ‘With Zennor, you mean? What does it matter if I’m careful or sensible or not? There’s nothing between us and never likely to be. She’s made that quite plain to me … unless you know different.’
‘I don’t, and even if I did, whatever Zennor said to me would be in confidence.
All I’m saying is that if you do still harbour hopes in that direction, then you need to tread carefully rather than stomping in in your size-ten boots.
Leave her to work out how she feels about Trev’s return – and yours.
Put yourself in her shoes; it must be pretty overwhelming to suddenly find you both back on the scene and still at each other’s throats. ’
‘I am not at anyone’s throat. Zennor can make her own decisions. I’ve learned my lesson.’
Sybil put her hand over his. ‘I hate to see you in pain and I’m only trying to help. Don’t lose hope. Your fate is in your hands. It always has been.’
A lump of tenderness towards Sybil rose to his throat before conflicting feelings took over – ones he didn’t like. He removed his hand from under hers and scooped up his car keys. ‘We both know that’s not true.’