Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
Lily hadn’t been quite straight with Sam when he’d asked if the cottage was OK. Her throwaway ‘fine’ didn’t do justice to the beautifully finished interior.
While she lounged on the huge bed with her tea and brownie, she cast a business eye over it.
It was obvious the cottage had been renovated to a very high standard, with exquisite finishes and natural materials in keeping with its age – two hundred years old at least. There was also some interesting contemporary art on the walls. Mixed media, using sand and shells …
There was a coffee-maker but she’d already decided on the Cornish tea – who knew that was even a thing? While she made the drink, she investigated the mini-hamper of treats: shortbread, cheese nibbles, a local beer and a small bottle of Scilly gin. All of them nestled in a cute canvas mini-bucket that was obviously hand-sewn, and rather beautifully at that.
It was exactly the type of item she would have been proud to offer through Lily Loves. As were the mugs and crockery, obviously artisanal with the stamp of a Scilly Island pottery on them, and there was a pretty shell-decorated trinket box where Lily placed the dress ring and necklace she wore every day. The pendant had once been Cara’s.
As a boutique hotel suite, she couldn’t fault it – and it had the understated style and rustic character of any small luxury hotel she’d stayed in in the Cotswolds or rural France.
She’d almost nodded off in the copper claw-foot tub, situated in front of a window, which, if there hadn’t been thick mist cloaking the landscape, might have had a lovely view. The toiletries were sourced locally and perfumed with extracts of Scilly flowers.
Wrapped in a fluffy robe, she’d lain on the bed and wished she could get her phone. She wanted to check in with her parents and étienne, then have a quick scroll through her emails to ensure nothing urgent had come in from Lily Loves today. With a sigh, she sank back against the pillows.
No matter now gorgeous this place was, the difficult access and lack of connection to the outside world would drive her mad if she had to stay here long … and, she had to admit, the comments from the gardener and Elspeth had spooked her.
The idea that she and Sam were alone together on the island, trapped by the bad weather, was creepy.
Sam wasn’t creepy, though; he was the opposite. Even scruffy and unshaven, he was handsomer than most men could manage with the benefit of a Savile Row suit and the services of a top men’s salon. His physical attractiveness was enhanced by the fact he didn’t seem to be aware of it or to give a toss how he looked.
Perhaps if he hadn’t made such extravagant and spurious claims for the resort, she could warm to him more. Admittedly, he had a dry sense of humour, was clearly popular with the locals and he was trying hard with the food. Ah, food … her mouth watered. Lily hadn’t eaten properly since breakfast, being too scared to have lunch with the Hell -i-copter ride ahead.
Rain spattered the windows and she was sure she could hear the foghorn of the lighthouse calling and maybe even the waves breaking on the shore as she allowed herself, finally, to relax her exhausted body and mind …
‘Oh my God!’ Lily’s eyes flew open. Something was tapping on her window, over and over, like a ghostly finger … like Cathy trying to get into Heathcliff’s chamber.
She jumped off the bed and laughed in relief to see a branch blowing against the window.
On the bedside table stood a half-full cup of cold tea and the remains of the brownie. The clock by the bed told her she’d been asleep for almost an hour! It was unheard of for her to take a nap in the day. Even worse, it was now a minute after seven and she was late for dinner.
She was the only dinner guest, though, so it probably didn’t matter what time she turned up.
As she made a quick check in the bathroom mirror, Lily thought that at least the woman staring back at her didn’t look quite as exhausted and drawn as the one who’d arrived. The sleep had done her good. Even so, she was shocked by her pale face and the blue smudges under her eyes that she’d normally disguise with an expensive concealer.
Some sunshine and sleep would soon set that to rights. In the meantime, she dabbed under her eyes with the concealer wand, swiped blusher over her cheekbones and added a slick of lip gloss.
She might be the only guest, but she was still on show.
‘Good evening. Welcome – again – to the Stark Retreat.’
‘Er … hi,’ Lily said, taken aback by the sight of Sam holding open the door of the reception hub as if it were the entry to the Ritz. Good grief, he was almost smiling.
‘I thought we’d start again,’ he said, taking her umbrella and stowing it in a stand. Cushions had appeared on the seating area, along with tealights flickering on the tables. Softly lit, it looked cosy and inviting, despite the rain drumming on the roof. A delicious aroma wafted through from a door next to the bar and Lily’s mouth watered.
‘Can I get you a drink? Wine? Beer? A cocktail?’
‘Erm …’ Lily floundered. She wasn’t sure she could cope with this shiny new version of her host, partly because of the way her body was reacting to the sight of him, freshly shaved and rocking a crisp white shirt and black jeans.
‘A G but how could he know it was the song étienne had chosen to play at Cara’s funeral?
Her vision went a little blurry as tears welled in her eyes.
She rubbed her face with the back of her hand, wishing she’d brought tissues. Where could she find one? As she was looking around for a guest bathroom, she remembered there were the cocktail serviettes behind the bar.
Fanning her face to fight back the tears, she went behind the bar, searching for anything to stem the flow. Yes! There was a roll of blue kitchen paper. That would do. Thank God she hadn’t bothered with mascara.
‘Is everything OK?’
Swivelling round, a wad of kitchen paper bunched in her fingers, she was confronted by Sam’s anxious face. ‘Yes. I – um …’
He looked as embarrassed as she felt. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Yes. I – I could smell you chopping onions in the kitchen.’
‘There are no onions in the dinner tonight.’
Lily smiled weakly. ‘It was a joke. I’m fine. Absolutely fine. It’s the … er … song, you see.’
A deep frown. ‘Jazz makes you sad?’
‘No, I quite like it,’ she said hastily. ‘It’s just that it has some bittersweet associations for me.’ That was as far as she was prepared to go.
The song had ended and Nina had launched into ‘Sinnerman’.
Lily could see Sam was thrown off kilter. ‘I thought this would be soothing and, er, create the right ambience.’ He reached for his phone. ‘I’ll change it.’
‘You don’t have to. Really, it’s f––’
‘Fine. You said. Even so, I’ll play something else,’ he said quickly, as if he was eager to get out of her sight. He clearly couldn’t deal with emotion – not that Lily could either. ‘By the way, your starter is ready, if you’d like to come through to the dining room.’
With relief, she followed him into the dining room to one side of reception. While not large, it had the same air of rustic sophistication as her room. There were six tables, and all were laid with cloth napkins and glasses as if expecting guests.
‘I gave you a window seat,’ Sam said, ‘although there’s not much of a view at the moment.’
She followed his apologetic gaze to the raindrops sliding down the glass. Beyond that was a wall of grey mist.
‘It’ll clear up tomorrow,’ he said.
Sharing none of his confidence, Lily turned her attention to the interior to cheer herself up and keep the conversation neutral. ‘Nice room. Lovely old beams,’ she said, pointing to the gnarled oak trusses that were holding up the roof.
‘Oh, yes. Apparently, the big one was salvaged by the islanders from the wreck of a ship.’
‘You’re kidding me?’
‘It’s well documented in the parish records. Elspeth will know more about it.’ He grimaced. ‘Though maybe asking her about the history of the island isn’t the best idea.’
‘No, I’ve already been spooked once by a branch tapping at my window. Thought it was the shades come to wreak revenge.’
‘Ouch! I am sorry you heard some of that conversation. Like I said, my aunt is very keen on the history of the islands. Our family go back generations and she’s never left here. Any kind of change is hard for her to accept.’
‘Change can be hard for all of us but sometimes you need to do something different,’ Lily said, thinking of Lily Loves and the supermarket offer to stock her brand. Perhaps it was exactly the injection of fresh ideas and finance her business needed, even if it would take her away from the original idea behind Lily Loves.
‘I do know what you mean,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll get your starter.’
Thoughts of work took a back seat when Sam arrived at the table a few minutes later with a plate of pink lobster meat on fresh leaves, dressed with a citrus vinaigrette.
‘Rory caught it this morning,’ he said, with a hint of a twinkle in his eye. ‘If I hadn’t helped him untangle the propellor, we’d have had no fresh shellfish today.’
‘I’ll let you know if it was worth it,’ Lily said, trying to sound jokey.
‘I’ll await your verdict.’
‘Well?’ he asked, returning a while later to clear her empty plate.
‘Totally worth the wait. It was so sweet and delicate. I rarely eat seafood in London but that was a treat.’
‘Tarragon chicken next?’
‘Sounds good.’
While he was in the kitchen, Lily wandered around the room, noting the tealights on the tables in their teal ceramic holders glazed with an imprint of wavy fronds of seaweed. There were prints on the walls; more contemporary artwork interspersed with a few photographs of, she presumed, islanders of the past. They were standing next to small boats or hauling in nets, the hardship of their lives etched on strained faces.
‘Here we go!’
Her spirits were lifted by the fragrant aroma of herbs that accompanied Sam when he re-entered the dining room with a plate of chicken in a creamy sauce, fresh new potatoes and cavolo nero.
‘Enjoy!’ he said in his best host fashion before he headed back to the kitchen.
‘Wait,’ Lily said. ‘Aren’t you going to eat?’
‘I’ll grab something in the kitchen.’
‘Oh. OK. It’s just that …’ She glanced around the empty room. ‘It feels a bit strange, sitting here, eating alone.’
‘You’re my guest. I can’t sit down at your table and start tucking in. I’ll fetch the wine.’
With that, he vanished again, leaving Lily alone with her tarragon chicken. She pictured him standing in the kitchen, eating scraps like a kitchen maid. The thought made her smile: he was about as far from a kitchen maid as you could get.
Music tinkled out of the speaker – some generic classical stuff that made her feel like she was a guest in Downton Abbey. It lent a rather stiff and formal air to the meal: like dining with the Beast in his castle, except Sam was the post-transformation version.
Perhaps on the journey here, when he was dishevelled and grumpy, he might have qualified for beastly status. Now, he was simply gorgeous and trying to be more pleasant, although Lily was convinced it didn’t come naturally to him. He really wasn’t the right type of person for front of house.
She was halfway through her main when he returned to top up her glass with wine from the ice bucket on her table.
‘How’s your chicken?’ he asked, lingering.
‘It’s delicious. Really,’ she said.
‘And the music?’ he asked, a hopeful lilt in his voice telling her that he really was trying to please his guest.
‘It’s – um – OK,’ she said, popping a forkful of tender chicken in her mouth.
‘I found a classical mix download on my phone,’ he said, then frowned. ‘But I’m sensing you’re not impressed?’
Lily mused while she finished chewing. ‘It’s very nice.’
Sam eyed her sharply. ‘“Nice?” I’m sensing that’s a loaded word.’
‘No. Not really.’
‘I’d rather you were honest with me.’
Lily wasn’t too sure if he meant that, but he had asked. ‘Maybe a classical mix is a little too … staid? You might be better to play stuff that’s in line with your brand rather than what you enjoy or even what you think your guests will enjoy.’
He frowned. ‘How do I do that?’
‘There are companies that specialise in music for businesses. They’ll curate a playlist to suit your brand and sort out all the licensing rights. And I’m sure you won’t have to stream it so don’t worry about the WiFi,’ she said. ‘For a price, of course. You haven’t looked into that?’
‘Not yet.’
‘OK. For now, let’s just say you and I are simply listening to some music together but when you have guests – after you’ve opened properly – you’ll have to think about it.’
‘I’ll add it to the list,’ he said, his shoulders slumping in dejection. Lily suspected he’d probably bitten off more than he could chew with the retreat and needed all the professional help he could get.
She laid down her cutlery. ‘What’s your brand?’ she asked. ‘Is it modern and sophisticated? Or elegant and traditional?’
‘Erm …’
She smiled. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about your brand because I know you have. I’ve seen your guest welcome pack and website. You’ve done a great job with those.’
‘I have?’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Actually, Morven and her friend designed the website. I was going for barefoot luxury like you get in exotic island hotels. We did some travelling after uni, working in a couple of resorts in the Seychelles. I worked in the kitchens briefly and then in maintenance. It gave me some ideas – and a pipe dream.’
She noted the ‘we’ followed by the hasty change to the first person.
‘Barefoot luxury is very on trend, though I have to say that Stark is more at the barefoot end of the scale than the luxury one, at the moment.’
His lips parted in dismay.
‘Don’t worry, we can do something about that. First things first, back to the music: this is a retreat, so you want something that’s chilled out but contemporary. Look, why don’t you at least sit down at the table rather than hovering by it? I’m sure that doesn’t count as fraternising with your guests.’
Her comment drew a smile that lit up Sam’s eyes. Lily was struck by his handsome profile, tempered by the lines fanning out from beside his eyes. He could only be in his mid-thirties but the telltale marks of strain and responsibility were etched on his face.
‘I don’t want to interrupt your meal,’ he said.
‘You aren’t.’
Reluctantly, he drew back a chair and sat down opposite her.
‘We invested a lot of money on getting the Lily Loves branding spot on. We don’t have our products in stores,’ she said, careful not to add ‘yet’, ‘but I learned a lot about the retail environment – and that includes all the strategies they use to maximise spend. One of those is sounds.’
‘ Sounds?’ he echoed.
‘Oh, yes. Guests linger longer and spend money if you can perfect your music branding,’ she said, getting into her stride.
Sam’s brow creased. ‘I’d no idea. Here I was, thinking I could simply connect my iPhone to a speaker.’
‘We could brainstorm some ideas after dinner if you like, or set up a time to do it tomorrow?’
‘I’m sure you’ve plenty to do without being a mentor to me.’
‘On the contrary. With no Internet or distractions, it’s the perfect opportunity to do a deep dive into the whole ethos of the Stark Island Retreat. It’s practically the only free time I’ll ever have to do it. I’ll be back in the thick of it once I can get back to civilisation.’
He nodded but pushed back his chair and got to his feet.
‘Lily, this is all very kind of you, and I appreciate the offer, but I’m sure we’ll both have plenty to do tomorrow. I’m flattered you’re willing to spend your precious time helping me, but I’m also conscious you’re here for a rest – even if only for two nights.’
‘Okayyy …’ she said, taken aback.
‘My number one promise to guests is to offer them a relaxing escape away from everyday cares,’ he went on, firmly. ‘It’s why I called Stark a retreat , not a resort. It’s wild and remote – a prison to some, but hopefully, soon, it will also be a haven. Your PA said you’d try to resist taking a break and he begged me to resist you .’
‘He said what ?’ Lily could hardly believe what she’d heard.
‘He said you needed saving from yourself. And from what I’ve seen, you do need the rest.’
‘Isn’t that a bit paternalistic?’ Lily said.
‘Of Richie or me?’ he asked.
‘Both, actually.’ Lily set her jaw.
Sam grinned. ‘Maybe, but that’s what I’m going to do: make sure you have a complete break. Now, please,’ he said, ‘relax and finish your meal.’
Lily arched an eyebrow, torn between annoyance at Richie and Sam – and being secretly touched that they cared.
‘And if I’m good, I get pudding?’ she joked.
‘Something like that,’ Sam said drily. ‘If you’re very good, I might even take you on a tour of the island tomorrow.’