Chapter Three
Saskia
“Nosy… bloody… woman…” Saskia grumbled to herself as she tramped back along the beach the way she’d come. “Sticking her nose into my business. Does she think I’m off my chump, or something? She’d do well to stay out of people’s private lives. Not everyone might be quite so nice about it.”
So much for becoming a nicer person.
Her thoughts continued to roll around in this manner for the entire walk back to the car.
She’d been so lost in thought – unhappy thought – when she’d initially been walking, she’d ended up going much further than she intended.
Ordinarily, she might have panicked that she was lost, but at this point she didn’t really care.
She’d get to the guest house eventually; she still had an hour and a half to spare.
Enough time for a spot of lunch from the bakery she’d driven past on her way down to the beach, and to practice her ‘nice face’ again.
Half an hour later, she had acquired a prawn-laden ciabatta, and was sitting in her car attempting to eat it.
They certainly didn’t stint on the seafood – she should have guessed by the disposable wooden spoon the guy had given her with a wink.
She wasn’t entirely sure where her next meal would be coming from – probably from the pub, unless this B Beaches; Animals/Wildlife; Events; Local Businesses; and Food.
She’d already had her first taste of the latter – no pun intended, as she noted with a quirk of the mouth – and so she wrote a couple of sentences underneath that heading, which she could flesh out later.
Then it was a case of scouring her brain for ideas, little titbits to get her started.
Rain jackets in June!! she noted underneath the heading of Fashion, thinking of Kiera from the beach.
She rolled her eyes at herself – why are you thinking of her again?
She supposed it was the sheer bizarreness of the woman’s outfit that had stuck in her mind.
Not only a jacket most suited to autumn or spring, but Wellington boots too!
Did she intend on walking through a swamp?
Saskia’s wedge boots had fared just fine with the sand, if with a little discomfort from the shingle.
Was this a Cornish thing, unseasonable attire?
Or just a Kiera thing? She supposed she’d never find out.
Not unless she bumped into Kiera again – at which point an apology would be required before anything else.
Now the hangriness had passed, she realised how rude she’d been to the poor stranger.
Sure, she’d been in a mood, but that was no excuse.
She couldn’t exactly write that in any of her articles, though, so it was with some exasperation that she looked at the clock again to see that she’d been staring at her screen for nearly half an hour.
The time had disappeared while she’d been thinking.
A quick trip to the bin to stretch her legs, and then it would be time to go to the B&B.
The bin was attached to a wall, so she headed over and put her rubbish in it. Then, out of curiosity more than anything, she looked over the wall, and flinched. It was a sheer drop beneath it. And it was only at navel-height for her… what if a kid were to climb it? What then?
Health and safety perhaps isn’t such a big thing down here in Cornwall, she thought to herself on the return trip. Best not write that either, though.