Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
Now, Sam really did have to be kidding her. All Lily could see was a tangle of tooth-like rocks emerging from the gloom.
The engine note died to a whisper and the boat glided as if through a portal, stopping very precisely alongside a tiny stone jetty. Sam jumped onto the quay and coiled the rope around a mooring post, tying it off with a knot so complicated, it would surely be impossible ever to undo.
He jumped back on board. ‘I’ll just clear some of these out of your way,’ he said, hurriedly landing the boxes and bags that covered the bottom of the boat.
While he nipped deftly from bobbing deck to jetty and back, Lily stared out at the quayside with a creeping sense of foreboding. The mist and the mysterious wooden chest all added to the eerie atmosphere and a feeling of gloom settled on her. Coming to this retreat now seemed like a very bad idea and she wished she could beam herself home.
Still, a nice hot soak and a decent dinner would surely do wonders for her mood. She might watch a new movie on Netflix. By Monday she’d be refreshed and might even touch base with Richie just to double-check that the team were totally happy about dealing with any issues that arose while she was away.
‘OK. You can get off now,’ Sam told her. ‘Be careful, though.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Lily said, making her way to the bow, ready to step across. The boat rocked.
‘No, wait! Let me give you a hand.’ Without allowing a second for her to protest, Sam grasped her hand and helped her from the deck to the jetty.
‘Thanks,’ she muttered, relieved to be on solid ground again. After twelve hours of travelling, she also felt a little light-headed.
Sam plucked her bags from the cabin. ‘I’ll come back for the supplies after I’ve shown you to your cottage.’
Lily cast her eye over the pile of goods on the jetty. ‘Is there anyone who can help you move that lot?’
He frowned. ‘Only me – I run this place.’
Lily felt her jaw drop. ‘ Just you? You mean, you run it on your own ?’
‘Well, no. That’s not strictly true. My niece Morven – who you just met on Bryher – is going to lend a hand with the changeovers when she can and Auntie Elspeth will step in too, if I need her. At least, that’s the plan.’
Lily was struck dumb for a few seconds as the pieces of the jigsaw slotted into place and formed an alarming picture. Not finished … soft opening … amazingly cheap … available at short notice.
‘I’m your guinea pig, aren’t I?’ she said, her spirits plummeting towards rock bottom.
‘Guinea pig? No, of course not. Please come this way. Your cottage is only a short walk from here.’ He picked up her bags and set off up a path as rain began to fall heavily.
Determined not to be put off, Lily trotted behind. ‘I’m your first guest, though?’
‘One of the first, yes.’
‘Who else is here, then?’ she said, stopping halfway up the path.
Sam was forced to come to a halt. ‘I can’t tell you that. It’s confidential.’
‘Really? I don’t think N. O. Body is going to complain about you telling me.’
‘Reception is up here,’ he said brightly, forging off towards a stone building, just visible through the drizzle. ‘There’s a spot of mizzle, so you might need this.’ He offered her a green golf umbrella, bearing the logo of the retreat. ‘Of course, it would have been a good idea to prepare yourself for the elements …’
‘And if you’d come prepared to meet your first guest – it might have been an even better one!’
Judging by his open-mouthed expression, Lily’s riposte had hit home.
‘Yes, well, er–– We’ll be inside soon.’
He offered the umbrella again and she took it but didn’t unfurl it. The mood she was in, she might have other ideas for it. Lily stomped after him, simmering with annoyance at his rudeness.
Ten seconds later he stopped outside a stone building with a wooden porch. Although plain, it did seem at least to have a roof, which was more than Lily had been expecting after the gardener’s remarks. A wooden sign lay on the ground outside.
‘This is it,’ said Sam. ‘Sorry I didn’t have time to fix the sign. Welcome to the reception hub of Stark Island Retreat.’
‘And spa ,’ Lily said, huffing. ‘It did mention a spa on the website.’
‘Did it?’ He seemed puzzled. ‘Morven must have added that. There will be a small spa at some point,’ he elaborated, waving his hand airily towards the shrouded coastline. ‘In the meantime, there’s that big bubbly thing all around us.’
‘You mean the sea?’ Lily said, hoping he was joking. ‘And what about the wellness retreat? My assistant definitely said there was a “wellness retreat”.’
‘Step out of your door and look up at the sky.’
‘I am. It’s chucking it down.’ Exhaustion and disappointment finally overwhelmed her. ‘So, let me get this straight. You’ve no spa, no staff and I’m the first and only guest.’
Sam looked at the ground because he could barely meet her eyes. ‘Look, I made it clear to your PA that the retreat is on a soft opening. Actually, I wasn’t going to accept any guests yet but Richie insisted you were desperate. He said you needed to get away from it all, and I quote: “no calls, no hassle, complete tranquillity and privacy”. I felt sorry for you so – against my better judgement, if I’m honest – I agreed. I’m sorry if you were expecting Champneys.’
‘Firstly, there’s no need to feel sorry for me,’ Lily said, hardly able to believe what she was seeing and hearing. ‘Secondly, I wasn’t expecting Champneys, but I was hoping for a boutique retreat in a stunning location with personal service. You do know you’re breaking the Advertising Standards Code? And that you’ll never recover from the crappy reviews on every travel site when visitors get here and find your website doesn’t live up to the reality of HMP Back of Beyond!’
‘Back of Beyond this may be, but a prison it is not!’ Sam shot back. ‘Maybe some aspects of the place don’t live up to the website as yet, but as for a stunning location and personal service, you’ll definitely get that.’ His eyes held a fiery challenge.
Lily glanced around in despair. She was a whisker away from bursting into tears again. This so wasn’t her. She was truly desperate for a break, but here ? ‘I suppose the next thing you’re going to tell me is that there’s no cottage?’ she said. ‘That I have to build my own from driftwood? Bathe in a rockpool to wash? Skin a rabbit with my bare hands for food?’ She laughed but Sam wasn’t smiling back. ‘Frankly, I’d rather go camping on a traffic roundabout on the North Circular.’
Her mouth snapped shut. Sam said nothing. He seemed at a loss for words and Lily felt uncomfortable – and, suddenly, a bit guilty.
The cloud was now so thick and the rain so heavy that she couldn’t even make out the other cottages. She and Sam might have been the only two people on the planet, might have been anywhere on the planet. Somewhere in the distance, a foghorn sounded.
Sam gazed through the mist towards the sea. ‘That’s the Bishop,’ he said, almost reverently, before continuing in a more conciliatory tone: ‘Look, I’m sorry – again – that you’re so disappointed. I’m sure this weather isn’t helping. However, you are going to stay in one of the most exclusive locations in Britain – in the world, in fact. What’s more, you’re the first person to spend the night here in two hundred years.’
‘Two hundred years? I’m not sure what you mean?’
‘The island was inhabited once, centuries ago, but the islanders abandoned it.’
‘Really?’ With a glance around her, Lily murmured, ‘I can’t think why,’ before giving a resigned sigh. ‘OK, there’s no point in us standing around like this. There’s clearly a mismatch in expectations here so if you don’t mind, please could you take me back to Tresco so I can get the next helicopter back to Penzance? I’ll find a hotel there.’
‘Sorry, but that won’t be possible.’
‘Why not?’
‘There are no more flights because of the fog.’
Lily stiffened. ‘OK. Then please be kind enough to take me to one of the other islands and I’ll book myself into a hotel there and fly out tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow,’ Sam stared at her as if she was mad, ‘is Sunday.’
‘That we agree on at least.’ She smiled. ‘Sunday is fine. First flight out of here? I’m not afraid of early mornings,’ she added.
‘We don’t allow helicopter or fixed-wing flights or sailings on Sundays.’
‘What? On cultural grounds?’ Lily suppressed a sigh. She was much more in her comfort zone when she was finding solutions, taking control. ‘OK, I can charter a private helicopter or plane then.’ It would cost an arm and a leg, she thought, but would be worth it.
‘It’s not cultural so much as practical. There are no flights of any kind on a Sunday, on the grounds that everyone should have a day off: pilots, ferry workers, airport staff, ground crew.’
‘A day off ?’
‘Yes. Everyone needs time to rest and recuperate,’ he said pointedly. ‘I suppose,’ he added, forestalling her next question, ‘that you could try and find a skipper who’d sail you back to Penzance, but in this weather, no one in their right mind would attempt it.’
‘So,’ Lily said, seeing every other option disappearing through the hourglass, ‘you’re saying that I’m trapped here until Monday?’
‘“Trapped” is not the word I’d use.’
He shrugged. Had Richie known about the situation? Had he deliberately sent her to some form of bootcamp? Lily burst out laughing; a proper guffaw, the likes of which she hadn’t heard for years. In this silence and mist, it had an edge of hysteria to it. Then she realised another thing. She was stuck with Sam Teague, a grumpy rural hunk whom she had no knowledge of other than that he ran a poor excuse for a wellness retreat on an island unfit to sustain life.
‘Then I’ll stay on one of the other islands. In … another hotel.’ She’d almost said ‘a proper hotel’, but didn’t want to fan the flames.
‘Well, you could try if you want to. It’s getting late in the day and they’re probably all fully booked for the weekend, but you’re welcome to use the radio in reception and maybe make alternative arrangements. Or one of the islanders might be able to put you up. I’m prepared to take you over the channel to Bryher or Tresco, but in this fog I daren’t risk taking the boat to the other off islands.’
She was about to say, ‘OK, let’s go for it,’ when he spoke again.
‘Lily,’ he said, in a voice that was suddenly gentle, ‘your cottage is finished. It has a claw-foot tub and power shower, and a mini-kitchen – though you won’t have to catch or cook your own dinner because among the boxes on the quay down there is fresh seafood, salad, home-baked bread, some island gin and a very nice bottle of wine from the St Martin’s vineyard. Or you may, of course, go foraging for limpets as the islanders had to when they couldn’t get off here for weeks and the potatoes had run out. It’s your choice.’
‘ My choice?’
‘Yes. And if you do stay, I promise I’ll do my very best to find a flight for you on Monday morning, so you can be out of here as soon as possible.’
A wave of weariness washed over her but she pushed it aside and lifted her chin defiantly. ‘I suppose I’ll have to concede,’ she said, her voice sounding lonely and small.
‘Concede?’ He shook his head. ‘You haven’t lost,’ he said with perfect seriousness. ‘It’s just the situation.’
‘OK,’ she said, feeling as if she could lie down and sleep right here on the path. ‘I think that’s a good interim solution.’
‘Good, because while I don’t mind a bit of rain, we’re both getting bloody soaked out here. Why don’t I show you your cottage so you can relax before dinner?’ He picked up her bag without asking her. ‘After you,’ he said, holding open the door so she could walk into the reception hub.
Lily stepped out of the fog’s chilly embrace and into the silence of the retreat. Well, it was definitely new , she’d give it that … fitted out with an oak bar and countertop, and a couple of small tables and chairs, one of which was still covered in plastic wrap. However, Lily was more concerned about communicating with the outside world than the fixtures and fittings.
‘You said you could contact the other islands by radio … I don’t suppose there’s WiFi here?’
He stared at her as if she’d asked him to take her to the moon. ‘I use a VHF radio for operational purposes but there’s no Internet connection of any description and no TV. We’d rather keep Stark Retreat as a tech-free zone.’
‘Tech-free?’
‘Stark was conceived as a place where guests can get completely away from screens.’ He produced a small wicker basket from behind the bar and lifted the lid. ‘In fact, you might like to switch off your phone and leave it here during your stay?’
Lily bit back a gasp. Hand over her phone? Leave it in a basket?
‘Of course, it’s not compulsory, but we’d rather you bought into the spirit and ethos of the retreat. All you really need to bring to Stark is an open mind …’
So many responses crowded Lily’s head that she didn’t dare pick one. In the end, she pulled her phone from her jeans pocket, switched it off and dropped it into the basket.
‘As there’s no connection, it won’t be much use to me,’ she said coolly, and had the satisfaction of seeing a flicker of surprise in Sam’s eyes. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting her to comply.
He put the lid on the basket. ‘I’ll keep this locked in the office and return it when we leave the island.’
‘That’s very big of you,’ Lily said, already feeling twitchy and wondering what she was going to do with herself until then.
‘Now for the good news,’ he declared, clutching the basket. ‘Your cottage has lots of books and we’ve provided artist’s materials.’ He smiled. ‘Richie happened to mention that you’re creative.’
‘Creative?’ she echoed. A profound sense of loss, for so many things, enveloped her. ‘I used to be.’