Chapter 5
5
Boathouse Cottage, St Aidan
Rainbows and designer labels
Monday
‘A re you Zofia?’
It’s ten on Monday morning, so it’s the right time for Scarlett’s help to arrive, and the woman by the door has let herself in. But her Rag and Bone jeans and pricey Tod’s loafers are throwing me off.
‘I am Zofia.’ A grin spreads across her face. ‘You’re thinking my white Prada shirt is not right for a cleaner?’ Her navy-blue padded velvet hair band is like the one Kate Middleton was wearing on the Woman and Home website, and she catches hair the colour of Pumpkin’s winter straw into a scrunchie.
I’m not going to pretend. ‘It was more your shoes.’
She stares down at immaculate beige suede toes. ‘Those too. I am in a good disguise, yes?’ She puts her hands on her hips. ‘Long story short, my husband, Aleksy, is the builder here. I clean all his sites when he’s finished the dirty work, and this place was too nice to leave so now I’m here every week. But no worries, I’ll change my shoes before I begin.’
‘Lucky Scarlett.’ I grin. ‘She’s my sister.’
‘If you are Betty, I’m very pleased to meet you.’ Zofia holds out her hand and laughs as she shakes mine. ‘See, my nails are the giveaway, they are not matching the clothes. When I am not cleaning up after builders, I am working in my borders.’
My ears prick up. ‘You have a garden?’
Her eyes get even brighter. ‘It’s my favourite place. I’ll show it to you if you ever have time.’
‘Yes please!’ I’m always happy to visit a garden. Years ago it was to find pretty corners I could include in my freelance work, but now I go for the love of it. ‘Do you live nearby?’
‘We have a wreck I call the Bird’s Nest that we bought for a song a couple of miles along the road to Rosehill. Most builders’ homes are never finished, but ten years on ours has barely begun.’
I smile. ‘Our next-door neighbour in the village where we lived with Mum was a builder. He’d reconstructed most houses in the area, but his wife still grumbled about the holes in their own walls.’
Zofia rolls her eyes. ‘I am always the last in the queue, but as I am mostly outside with my flowers, I don’t mind so much.’ She smiles. ‘Has Scarlett arrived safely?’
I nod. ‘I’ve had a message to say she’s landed.’
Zofia sighs. ‘Central Park, Macy’s, Tiffany’s. I know them all from my modelling days.’
This sounds like a good way to prolong our chat. ‘You and Scarlett must have a lot in common with your fashion backgrounds.’
Zofia looks over her shoulder and sniffs. ‘We do, but I do not share her love for minimalism.’ She comes a step closer and drops her voice. ‘Clean lines are good for dusting, but hand on my heart… for me this kitchen is very bare.’
‘For me too!’ I glance along the empty monochrome counter tops then look down at my dress with purple, yellow and blue stripes, two sizes too big, layered over my on-show fuchsia bralette and shorts, topped with an oversized green cardi. ‘I should probably get a whole new toned-down wardrobe so I fit in better with the architecture.’
Zofia reaches out and pats my hand. ‘You are cheering up my day. Your put-together look is dazzling in a good way.’
It’s more about grabbing anything from my jumble of a bag than a style, but I’m hoping we have bonded enough for me to slip in a question. ‘Do you know much about my housemate, Miles?’
Zofia shrugs. ‘Only that he arrived out of nowhere with his foot in a pot while I was away visiting my mother, and has serious good taste in toiletries.’
That’s an interesting summing up. ‘So when would that have been?’
She frowns, as she slips her feet into some trainers and snaps her hands into plastic gloves. ‘Three weeks ago. Maybe four.’
There’s the clunk of the side gate closing, then footsteps on the gravel, and when a tall figure appears behind Zofia, we freeze, knowing we’ve been caught talking about him.
I’m the first to break the silence. ‘I thought you’d gone out for the day?’
He pulls a face. ‘I left my Ray-Bans on the island, but it could be your lucky morning.’ He tucks them into his shirt pocket and turns to Zofia. ‘Betsy Beth would like to know, is there a fruit bowl?’
Zofia nods. ‘High cupboard in the mud room. Made from iron.’
Miles’s eyebrows go up as he backs towards the doorway. ‘It’s more likely to be hammered steel, but thanks for that. You can knock yourself out buying bananas, Betsy Beth.’
I’m more confused than ever. ‘Where the hell is the mud room?’
Miles gives me that ‘lesser being’ look. ‘You might know it as the boot room, or the laundry?’
I’m trying for clarity. ‘The utility?’
He’s biting back his smile. ‘Yes. But no one has those anymore. They’re very last century.’
As he heads back out again Zofia chuckles. ‘He’s a very nice boy. Like Henry Cavill on a playful day. He smells good too.’ She sees my look of disbelief, and laughs. ‘You’ll like him once you get to know him better.’
‘I definitely won’t.’ When she’s so obviously smitten, there’s no point filling her in on the backstory.
She takes out a pile of dusters from the cupboard and rolls up her shirt sleeves. ‘I’m guessing you’re here on holiday?’
I pull a face. ‘If only. I write for holistic lifestyle blogs and publications, which means anything that’s pretty, sustainable and original.’
Zofia nods her approval. ‘That sounds like a dream job.’
I’m constantly running to keep up, and I only get paid when I place a piece, but I’m very lucky to have the work, so I agree. ‘It’s easy when I write about things I love myself.’
Her eyes are shining. ‘Flexible working hours too. Except working for yourself, you may end up working all the time.’
That makes me smile. ‘My trouble is not working enough. Today I’m reading up on sirens.’ Now I’m out in the real world I need to push up my income with speculative pitches. It’s not that I’m lazy– I just need to do more writing and less dreaming.
‘I’ll leave you to your mermaids, then.’ Zofia reaches into a tall cupboard and comes out with a vacuum cleaner. ‘Scarlett has already given you my number for the spare keys. Call me whenever you’d like to visit; the blooms are at their best now, so don’t put it off too long.’
I laugh. ‘Thank you. In the meantime, I promise I won’t be locking myself out.’ That’s a promise to both of us. I have a sudden thought. ‘Do you happen to have an outside shower I could use for some pictures?’
‘I wish. I don’t even have an indoor one!’ She gives a chortle. ‘Don’t look so disappointed, I do have some very nice marigolds.’
‘It’s fine.’ I should have known better than to get my hopes up. That’s the rule about good ideas for pieces, you rarely find them where you expect them.
She waves as she heads towards the bedroom. ‘You can bring Miles to see the garden too; he can give you a lift in his racing car. Zooming around country lanes together, you’ll be best of friends before you can say hair-pin bend.’
‘No, no, and no! To all three!’ My protest is loud, but no one hears because it’s drowned by the noise of the vacuum cleaner.
As for Miles, I’ve seen enough of him already to last me a lifetime. My aim for the rest of the day is to stay out of his way. If I head for the top of the garden, I should be safe there.