Chapter 4
Chapter Four
S ituated at the end of the cobbled lane, just metres from the path that led to the bay, was Betty Rose’s Tearoom. The pink thatched cottage was everything a tearoom should be, as well as boasting breathtaking sea views. It looked even more magical than the online images, with its pastel triangular bunting hanging across its front. Outside, the tables draped with floral tablecloths were all occupied, the whole place full of life. Verity was glad she’d booked and couldn’t wait to sample the delights. Opening the wooden gate, she made her way down the path. As she opened the door, the old-fashioned bell above her head tinkled and Verity was enveloped by the mouth-watering aromas floating all around her.
The inside was just as vintage as the outside. Homemade pastries on the open counter lined the way to glass-domed cake stands filled with the most scrumptious-looking cakes Verity had ever set eyes on. Antique dressers lined the wall, displaying vintage teacups and teapots, and behind the counter was a chalkboard with today’s specials. The whole room was packed to the rafters and Verity suspected this place was the heart of the community.
‘Welcome to The Café by the Coast.’ The girl behind the counter smoothed down her white pinny as she hurried over. Verity recognised her straightaway from the pictures on the internet. It was Clemmie, Betty Rose’s granddaughter.
‘You must be the girl in the travelling van booked in for a cream tea at three o’clock.’
Verity was hit with surprise. ‘How do you know that?’
Clemmie grinned and pointed to the brown-paper-wrapped book in Verity’s hand. ‘Everyone knows everything on Puffin Island!’ She laughed. ‘My best friend is Amelia. You think she’s sat there typing away, creating her first novel, but the nine texts I’ve received in the last ten minutes would suggest she has time on her hands in that bookshop. She’s not a gossip but she told me that if a girl – so tall, messy bun, wearing shorts – walks in with a twinge of green to her complexion, then I need to be extra-special nice. I take it the ferry crossing got you?’
Verity laughed. ‘Good and proper. I’m not sure I can face it again so soon but I’m due back to the port tomorrow to catch a fifteen-hour ride to Amsterdam.’
‘I have to say I don’t envy you, but there is a simple solution.’
‘Which is?’
‘Just stay on Puffin Island! Park your van at the bay. What could be better than waking up to the waves crashing against the sand and the gulls circulating up above.’
‘You make it sound so appealing and easy.’
‘It is easy. We have a hundred and sixty residents on the island, but we’re always looking for more recruits. Unfortunately, it’s very rare that a property comes up for sale.’
‘Is everyone this lovely on Puffin Island?’ Verity replied, her imagination running wild. ‘It would be living the dream, waking up to that view.’ She glanced out of the open window towards the bay.
Clemmie pulled out a chair for Verity at a table in front of the window. ‘This is the best seat in the tearoom and as your visit to the island is a short one, you deserve it.’
‘Amelia really didn’t miss anything out, did she?’ said Verity with a smile, taking the seat. ‘Apparently it won’t be my last visit.’
‘Everyone comes back.’ Clemmie smiled. ‘I can’t ever imagine living anywhere else.’
‘It’s utterly stunning and picturesque. I honestly feel like I’m on a movie set.’
‘It is a very special place.’
‘But I have to say I’ve not seen a puffin yet, which is a bit disappointing.’
Clemmie pointed. ‘You head over that way before you travel to your next destination and you won’t be disappointed any longer. Believe me, there are thousands. Though I’ve always thought that when you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. I can’t tell them apart. Now, you’re booked in for a traditional afternoon tea, so there’s a choice of traditional finger sandwiches, freshly baked scones with strawberry preserve and Puffin Island clotted cream made right here, along with delicate sweet treats and for the touch of elegance, we can add a glass of prosecco.’
Verity’s mouth was already watering. ‘That sounds like the perfect plan.’
‘In that case, all that’s left for me to say is welcome to The Café by the Coast, aka Betty Rose’s Tearoom. I’ll be back with you very soon.’
Verity watched as Clemmie walked behind the counter and pushed open the swinging kitchen door. This had been a good choice. Pulling on the string around her recent purchase, Verity opened the book and read the opening paragraph before turning to the window and watching the people wandering down Lighthouse Lane towards the sea.
Clemmie soon reappeared, holding a tea stand with three individual floral china plates.
‘Woah! Look at this! This can’t be for one person.’
‘It sure is! You take your time though, the table is yours for as long as you’d like it. Sit back and enjoy the best afternoon tea I can guarantee you’ll ever have. I’ll bring you a pot of tea and a glass of prosecco, but is there anything else I can get you?’
‘I think you’ve covered everything,’ replied Verity, taking a cucumber finger sandwich from the plate. ‘This is definitely the life,’ she murmured as Clemmie hurried off, soon returning with the drinks.
Verity held up the prosecco glass. ‘Cheers, and thanks for making me feel so welcome. I’m so glad I decided to jump on the ferry to come and check out the island. Would you believe my granny used to tell me stories about Puffin Island when I was a small girl? I thought it was make-believe and it was only yesterday I discovered that this place actually existed. My granny described it so well I actually feel like I’ve been here many times.’
‘Wow! How did you discover we aren’t all make-believe?’
‘Funnily enough, a postcard from the past! I’ve rented out my house for six months and in preparing it for the renters I removed an old, sealed postbox. Inside I discovered a postcard from Puffin Island that had been lying there, unread, for decades.’
Clemmie’s eyes widened. ‘A postcard from Puffin Island. Decades old. Wow!’
‘And that’s when I realised this place must be real and my granny must have been here at some point. I don’t know whether it was for a holiday or whether she stayed for a while, so I was hoping to do a little digging whilst I’m here.’
‘Who was the postcard from? Everyone knows everyone here so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find out.’
‘That’s the thing, it doesn’t really say. But whoever it was from apparently can’t imagine their life without her.’
‘That is so romantic. Was there no name at all?’
Verity shook her head. ‘That’s where the mystery deepens, it’s only signed with the initial “W”. But whoever it was, it seems he may have thought my granny was his one true love.’
‘And what does your granny say about it all? Does she know you’re here?’
‘No, she passed away.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’
‘That’s okay, it was a long time ago. Still, I’m intrigued to know who W is. I know this is a long shot, but do you know of anyone, at a guess possibly between the ages of sixty-five and eighty, that lives on the island and has the initial W? I’ve got the postcard with me. Would you like to take a look?’
‘I would!’
Verity delved into her bag and pulled out the postcard, which she handed over to Clemmie.
‘I recognise this! This postcard is still sold in the Nautical Nook, the local gift shop. But the initial W isn’t ringing any bells. Let me have a think.’ Clemmie wafted the postcard in front of her face whilst looking deep in thought. ‘No one springs to mind but now I’m just as intrigued as you are to know what the secret is.’
‘It could possibly have been a holiday romance, in which case I’ve not got a cat in hell’s chance of discovering anything, with the number of tourists that must pass through here each year. I just thought that if my granny had stayed here for a while…it’s a long shot but someone may remember her.’
‘If there’s anyone who knows everything about this island, that would be our very own Puffin Island Google.’
Verity looked at Clemmie, puzzled.
‘My grandmother Betty. Believe me, she knows everything that goes on on this island and what she doesn’t know isn’t worth knowing. Someone could walk through that teashop door from fifty years ago and she would still recognise them, know their name and remember all their past history. Sharp as a knife and nothing passes her by. What’s your granny’s name?’ Clemmie took out her pen and pad from the front pocket of her pinny.
‘Henrietta Callaway, Hetty for short.’
Clemmie scribbled down the name on the pad. ‘And when are you leaving?’
‘I’m heading for Amsterdam early tomorrow morning.’
‘So, we have less than twenty-four hours to solve the mystery of W. Unfortunately, my grandmother is away for a couple of days. Shall I take your number? If, on her return, she knows anything, I could drop you a text.’
‘Would you? That would be perfect.’
Clemmie was poised with her pen as Verity gave her the number.
‘I’ll let you know one way or the other as soon as I’ve spoken to her. Now, you enjoy your afternoon tea and before you leave you do have to go and see the puffins. It’s unbelievable when you see them for the first time…’
‘I will and thank you.’
Clemmie placed the pen and pad back in the pocket of her pinny before returning behind the counter. Verity devoured the finger sandwiches in a matter of minutes and as she sat back in her chair sipping prosecco, she watched the world outside the window pass her by and wondered if Betty Rose could shed any light on the postcard from the past. And if she could, what exactly she might say.