Chapter Four
Eloise woke with a start, disorientated in the darkness of an unfamiliar room, and lay there for a moment trying to get her bearings as an old but not forgotten feeling of dread flooded through her.
Then she remembered she was in Honeycombe Bay.
Her tension eased, and by the time she’d switched on a side lamp and visited the neat and spacious en suite, the fleeting alarm had faded.
The clock said seven-twenty-seven, too early to get up, so she made a cup of tea and climbed back into the remarkably comfortable bed. She picked up her book (a popular whodunit), opened it, and began to read.
Half an hour passed, and only after she’d found herself going over the same paragraph for the third time did she conclude that she wasn’t in the mood. It was rare for her to read so early in the day, so she put the book aside for later.
The curtains were heavy lined damask, but a hint of daylight stole in around the edges, and she wondered whether it had stopped raining and if she’d be able to see the sea.
Eager now for the day to begin, she pushed aside the bedclothes, dropped her feet to the floor, and felt around with her toes for her slippers.
Shoving her arms into the thick dressing gown, she shrugged it on, made another cup of tea, and padded over to the window to take a peep outside.
If she hadn’t been holding the mug, she would have clapped at the sight that greeted her.
A flat silver light illuminated a clear sky with only a hint of pearl-grey cloud. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but an encouraging orange-and-pink glow to the east assured her it wouldn’t be long. But even in the predawn, the view was lovely.
Eloise couldn’t see all of Honeycombe from here, but she could see the bits that mattered: the sea itself, of course, and the headland with the lighthouse perched precariously at the end, and on the other side of the bay, the twinkling lights of the harbour were visible.
She had already planned out the day in her head. A substantial breakfast, followed by a nice walk, then a sandwich and a pot of tea in a café—if any were open—so she was delighted the weather was playing ball.
With a spring in her step, Eloise had a shower and got dressed, making sure her clothes were suitable for a hike across the clifftop to the lighthouse: a vest top, because since the burning-up-from-the-inside flushes of the menopause had passed, she often felt the cold; a long-sleeved T-shirt and a zip-up fleece (a gilet would go over that before she put her coat on, but not just yet); thick trousers; even thicker socks; and walking shoes.
They looked like trainers but they were supposed to be for hiking, and the woman in the shop had assured her they were also water-resistant.
By that, Eloise presumed they’d stand up to a passing rain shower but not to a paddle in the sea.
Before she went down to breakfast, she laid out the gilet, her coat, a hat, a scarf, and a pair of woollen mittens on the bed, which she’d duly made even though she knew housekeeping (might that be Bart, she wondered?) would have made it for her, regardless.
Finally, she checked that the room was tidy; then she rinsed out the mug and trotted downstairs.
Out of the five tables in the dining area, only one was laid for breakfast, which reminded her…
“When are the other guests arriving?” she asked when Bart appeared to take her order.
“A guy called Mitch Hastings will be here on Saturday, and the other, a Mrs. Pike, isn’t coming until Tuesday, so I’m afraid you’ll be on your own for a couple of days.
Right, what can I get you?” he asked. “We”—she heard a hitch in his voice, swiftly smothered as he cleared his throat and continued—“I can do you a full English, or any variation thereof, or how about an omelette, or some porridge?”
“A full English, please, but hold the black pudding.”
“Beans or tomatoes, or both?”
“Tomatoes.”
“White or brown toast?”
“Brown, please.”
“A pot of tea or coffee?”
“Coffee, please. I’ve had two cups of tea already.”
“Did you sleep well?”
She beamed. “I did, thanks. The mattress was so comfy.”
“Penny always insisted on the best,” he said. “Can I get you some orange juice? And would you like the fresh fruit and yoghurt to start, or cornflakes?”
The generous and abundant breakfast was one of the things she’d liked about this place the last time she’d stayed here. “I’d love a glass of juice, and the fruit and yoghurt. Thank you.”
After he’d retreated to the kitchen, Eloise gave a satisfied sigh. If she ate all that, she probably wouldn’t need more than a slice of cake at midday.
While she waited for her fruit and yoghurt, she scanned the room.
It looked a little shabbier in the cold light of day than it had yesterday evening, but it was spotlessly clean.
And she didn’t mind it being a little old-fashioned.
In her opinion, places that were too modern and too chic could be soulless.
This room, this house, had been loved, cared for, and lived in.
It was rather quiet though, so maybe she should turn the TV on rather than sit there contemplating her navel.
She’d left her mobile phone upstairs in her room, but even if she had brought it down to breakfast with her, she wouldn’t have sat at the table fiddling with it.
Games didn’t interest her and neither did social media.
If she wanted to know what her friends were up to, she’d either phone them or message them to ask.
Which reminded her: At some point in the next day or so, she would buy a postcard to send to Hannah.
Eloise did read the news online though, although she preferred to get it from the BBC website, where it was more likely to be correct, rather than from Joe Bloggs on the internet with opinions on everything and knowledge of very little.
A clatter from the direction of the kitchen saw her get to her feet and go looking for the remote control. The news would undoubtedly be the usual depressing and worrying stuff, but she liked to keep abreast of events.
No sooner had she sat back down than Bart appeared with a glass of cold orange juice and a bowl of mixed berries topped with creamy yoghurt.
Eloise polished it off in five minutes and would have liked more. Maybe she should try that at home? It would make a nice change from her usual bran flakes or toast and marmalade, and it would help with getting her five-a-day.
Her eyes lit up, though, when Bart placed her full English in front of her, along with a rack of hot toast.
Goodness! It was lucky the weather was decent because she couldn’t have eaten all that without walking it off afterwards. Two rashers of crispy bacon, two fat pork sausages, their skins lightly browned, two golden-yolked eggs…it looked delicious.
Eloise tucked in with enthusiasm, eating contentedly and relishing every mouthful.
“Can I get you anything else?” Bart asked, making a reappearance a short time later.
She’d just finished saying, “Nothing else, thank you. This is wonderful,” when the TV presenter said, “And next up is how to survive Christmas Day with your family. Did the kids wind you up last year? Did Granny drink too much sherry? Did Uncle Fred hog the TV? Stay tuned for tips on how to stay sane and—”
Eloise turned it off. She caught Bart’s eye and gave him a rueful smile as she said, “And here’s me insisting on a Christmas-free break. Sorry.”
“You can’t escape it totally, can you?” he replied, a hint of sadness in his voice.
Eloise quickly said, “No, but we can do our best. Today I’m going to pretend it doesn’t exist by going for a walk to the lighthouse.
I dare say it won’t be as pleasant as it was in July, but I’ll make the most of it.
There were so many wildflowers on the headland in the summer that it was like a carpet, if you’ll excuse the cliché. ”
“It’s a sight to behold,” he agreed. “But winter has its own charm. Did you visit the caves?”
“I didn’t.” She shuddered. “I’m not too keen on cold, dark holes in the cliff.”
“Most of them are above the high-tide mark, but I know what you mean. The headland is riddled with them. That’s where the name Honeycombe Bay comes from, in part because the caves are like a honeycomb, and also the honey that the village is famous for. There are several beekeepers in the area.”
“I bought a tea towel with a bee on it the last time I was here, and some honey. It was delicious.”
“Would you like some to go with your toast?” Bart asked.
“Maybe tomorrow.” Eloise patted her tummy.
“I’m rather full after all that. I’ll just finish my coffee; then I’ll be off.
” If she could actually move after scoffing such a large breakfast!
“Do I need to tell you what time I’ll be back or…
?” She left the question hanging, her eyebrows raised, then added, “Only, I’d hate to come back and not be able to get in. ”
“Oh yes, you need a key.”
She watched him walk into the hall and delve into a drawer in the small desk, bringing out a key, which he handed to her. She took it from him with a smile. “Marvellous.”
Then she trotted upstairs to fetch her coat, eager to explore.