Chapter 2
TWO
Stan waved at Rita from the hay barn as the Jimny’s tyres crunched over the courtyard gravel.
She pulled up abruptly and headed for Jago Jenken’s front door.
Ringing the doorbell, she waited for an answer that didn’t come.
Stan, wearing his trademark flat cap, a chunky fisherman’s jumper beneath a weather-beaten waxed jacket, and a pair of muddy wellies, walked toward her.
His tanned, creased face, shaped by a lifetime outdoors, broke into a faint grin as his broad Cornish accent cut through the March air.
‘All right, Mrs Jory… I was just shifting some bales before the rain comes on… proper mizzle this time o’ year, eh? ’
Rita nodded distractedly, her eyes flicking to a parked Mini she didn’t recognise and a space where Jago’s Defender usually sat.
‘Stan… has Jago got company?’
He followed her gaze and gave a small shrug. ‘Aye… They headed out.’
Rita folded her arms. ‘Do you know where to?’
Stan took off his cap and scratched his bald head. ‘Said he was going down the harbour for a coffee.’
Her voice shook slightly. ‘Right, OK. I know your loyalties are split here, but do you know who… sh… she is?’
Stan put a reassuring hand on her arm. ‘I realise you must be having a bit of set-to, but I also know he cares for you deeply. Shall I give him a message?’
Rita’s lip wobbled. ‘No, no. You haven’t seen me, all right, Stan?’
Stan tipped his cap. ‘Mum’s the word, Mrs Jory, mum’s the word.’
As Rita drove down to Seahaven Bay Harbour, she tried to convince herself that he couldn’t be with someone else, not like that…
especially after how amazing a time they had had together recently.
Yes, he could be slightly elusive at times, just like her Archie had been, and he’d wanted some thinking time, but she didn’t put him down as a cheater.
She pulled into the car park next to the sea wall and drew a steadying breath.
Since leaving London twenty-six years ago, she had never once taken the Cornish landscape for granted, with every season revealing its own quiet beauty and its microclimate never to be underestimated.
Today, with grey skies above, the water lay before her, its dark and restless surface matching her thoughts.
The picturesque harbour at Seahaven Bay wore a different face in March to the balmy summer months.
The horseshoe of weathered stone wrapped protectively around a jumble of fishing boats, yachts, and a couple of old trawlers, their decks slick with drizzle, serving as favourite perches for the odd cormorant.
Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries sharp in the stillness.
Getting out of the car, wearing a woolly hat, sunglasses, and a scarf pulled up to her nose, Rita looked left and right to check there was nobody in sight.
On spotting Jago’s Defender, her heart skipped a beat.
Locking her car, she scurried down a narrow lane and surreptitiously pushed open the door to the Seahaven Bay Reformer Pilates studio opposite where Jago had parked.
Rita stepped inside and was immediately enveloped in a waft of delicious, grapefruit-scented perfume, the unmistakable trail of Jilly Cooper.
The studio’s owner was perched on one of her torture-instrument machines, scrolling through her phone with a mug of builder’s tea balanced on the carriage.
Her bleach-blonde hair was scraped into a high ponytail, and her perfectly bronzed, gym-honed body was poured into her signature head-to-toe Lycra – a fetching olive green today.
Rita had never asked the woman’s age, and it had never been offered.
You could never tell what expression she was making but regardless Jilly looked great.
With her matter-of-fact opinions on life, Jilly had been a loyal friend to Rita since she’d moved from Liverpool to Seahaven Bay, shortly after Archie’s passing.
Jilly looked up from her scrolling. ‘Hell, Rita. You look like you’re about to rob the Co-op.’
Rita yanked off the sunglasses. ‘I’m on a mission. I need to know if Jago’s in Betty’s Café. And who he’s with.’
‘What the…?’ Jilly burst out laughing. ‘If you’re looking for an alibi? Not a chance, kid. I did my stint covering for me auld fella. God rest his dodgy soul.’
‘I’m not the one who’s done something wrong.’ Rita flopped onto the nearest machine, tugging at her scarf. ‘I just need a vantage point. Somewhere he won’t see me.’ She groaned, fanning herself with her hand. ‘Oh God, here we go again. Hot flush. I swear, I’m like a walking radiator.’
Jilly took a sip of tea. ‘You’re too young for all that menopause malarkey, surely.’
‘Forty-six. My periods have been more irregular than the bus service from here to Newquay for the past few months. I keep meaning to see the doctor but it’s not something I’m ready to face yet.’
‘I’m just dreading my fanny drying up, to be honest. Saying that, there’s not been much chance of that lately.’
Rita shook her head. ‘The handsome barman still on the scene, I take it?’
‘He has a name, does my Joel, and he’s twenty-three now.’
Rita smiled. ‘I don’t know how you do it.’
Jilly smirked. ‘He’s hotter than July, so why not, I say.’
Rita laughed. ‘No judgement here, girl. I’m just jealous after my Valentine’s Day disaster.’
‘Maybe that’s what you need? A no-questions-asked seeing-to by a younger man whose abs you could grate cheese on. Saying that Jago is pretty hot himself.’
Rita felt the familiar flutter low in her stomach at the mention of him. ‘He is. Infuriatingly so.’ She paused, her smile softening. ‘I’d be a fool to let him go.’
‘Then don’t!’ Jilly hopped off the Reformer. ‘Why all the secrecy anyway?’
‘I’m probably being paranoid, but Hilda’s Eric said he saw Jago talking to a woman at his gate yesterday. I just went round to try and make peace and stop all this space business and Stan said he was down here with someone.’ Rita paused. ‘Oh God, that must mean she stayed the night.’
‘Rita.’ Jilly tipped Rita’s chin and looked into her eyes.
‘Stop now! It could be a family member; it could be anyone! Or it’s most probably work related…
you know yourself running a farm is a tricky business.
’ Jilly paused and smiled. ‘And if it’s not, we’ll tie him to an anchor and tip him into the harbour. ’
Rita shook her head and pulled her scarf back up. ‘Come on. Shield me as we walk past Betty’s. If he’s in there, we’ll see.’
Jilly tutted. ‘And if he’s not, you can stop dressing like a dodgy extra from Line of Duty and just call him.’
Rita burst out laughing, muffled behind her scarf. ‘God, we’re being ridiculous.’
‘Sorry, who’s being ridiculous?’ Jilly grinned, tucking her arm through Rita’s as they headed out of the door, then, pushing Rita straight back inside again, Jilly whispered, ‘Shit! Don’t let him see you.’
Rita slid down behind the reception desk, peering over the counter at Jago Jenken, deep in conversation with a striking-looking woman.
Rita guessed she must be in her late thirties.
She had long, glossy raven hair, and looked effortlessly chic in a tailored dogtooth-check winter coat, a white fur scarf, and red suede knee-length boots.
‘Those boots…’ Jilly drooled.
‘I’m going to confront him,’ Rita said firmly, jumping out from behind the desk as the pair now with their backs to them headed towards the car park.
Jilly held up her hand. ‘Hold your horses, babe. You don’t know what’s going on. Wait. Definitely not now.’
Rita froze mid-step, her heart hammering in her chest as she watched Jago laugh, the woman leaning in slightly. ‘But… he can’t just be… have started something else so quickly,’ Rita said, her voice trembling.
‘Exactly why you wait, love,’ Jilly cut in, gently grabbing her arm. ‘Let’s not make a scene in front of Miss Perfect over there. Breathe. You’ll thank me later.’
Rita peeked again, trying to steady her nerves, wishing she had Jilly’s unflappable confidence. ‘I need to know.’ Her voice was childlike.
‘Patience, babe,’ Jilly comforted. ‘It’s a superpower, and it looks like you’re about to need it.’