Chapter Eleven
Saskia
The egg chair in the guest lounge was officially her favourite spot in the house, Saskia thought several hours later as she untangled her body and stretched.
It probably wasn’t healthy, sitting like a pretzel, particularly as she entered her thirties, but she couldn’t help it.
Sitting like a normal person – feet on the floor, back upright – was uncomfortable, unless she was in a chair with proper back support.
Which she could have had – there was also a desk in the lounge, with a chair tucked in beneath it for optimal alignment of body parts.
But the egg chair had been calling her name, alluring with its cosy floral cushioning and soft surrounding, and so it was there in which she had been nestled all morning, stirring only to sip her bottled water.
Leo was the same. He claimed that being unable to sit properly was a gay thing. Saskia disagreed – she was a human example that went against that concept. Maybe it was a Saltmarshe twin thing, stemming from nine months of being curled up in their mother’s womb.
An eye-break was in order, Saskia thought, and re-adjusted her position.
She let her eyes wander to the window, and her mouth spread into a smile to see Kivi – clad in her wellies again – taking Toto for a walk.
The Golden Retriever was on a lead, but he was surging forward like some sort of runaway canine locomotive, tail waving from side to side, clearly ecstatic to be out and about.
She and Leo had always wanted a dog when they were little, but their parents had refused.
It made sense now – the two of them had worked full-time, eventually running their own business – but to the young twins, it had been the greatest injustice.
Her mouth stayed in the smiling position as she recalled her and Kivi’s conversation from that morning.
Her host’s froideur had melted, and her real personality had started to shine through.
It had warmed Saskia’s heart, to finally have someone in this village treat her as a friend rather than a guest, and she made a vow to get to know Kivi better.
The article on Cornish small businesses was near enough done. The chat with Kivi had inspired her, and she’d finally written an introduction she was happy with. She read it back to herself now, and nodded with approval.
It’s no secret that during the pandemic, there was a great push to ‘shop local’.
‘Shop small.’ With the ‘big brands’ taking the subsequent cost-of-living crisis as a green-light to hike up their prices and then make record profits, it’s understandable that those of us who can afford to, want to take our business elsewhere.
Online shopping marketplaces have their places, but since being down here in Cornwall, my eyes have been drawn to the local businesses.
The ones born and bred in Cornwall, run by real people with real ethics and morals, for whom their business props up their life.
They, let’s face it, have more riding on their business than some hotshot CEO on squillions a year.
So I’ve been wondering how I can help them on their way, aside from giving them my money.
And then I face-palmed, because I realised that I have the perfect platform.
Let’s start in Miltree. The guest house at which I’m staying is a fantastic example.
Sandy Dunes Guest House is run by sisters Kiera and Eva.
Eva works part-time at the local florist, Beachy Blooms, whose proprietor Anastasia supplies the guest house with exquisite arrangements of fresh-cut flowers.
Anastasia’s partner is the headteacher of the Miltree Primary School, which has in turn supplied the guest house with some wonderful decorated plates.
They adorn the walls and make me smile every day with their whimsical charm.
The shops in the village are all centred around a four-way junction: a pub, a bakery, a boutique, the aforementioned florist and even an old-fashioned greengrocer, which supplies the village with much of its local fare.
Saskia pursed her lips, wondering whether the phrase ‘old-fashioned’ was appropriate.
It was a double-edged sword: on one hand, ‘old-fashioned’ was exactly the word for the greengrocer – hadn’t she thought it straight out of a Blyton novel, after all?
But on the other hand, she didn’t want to appear rude.
Like she was taking a cheap shot, after her conversation with Mr. Elliot, who was the epitome of ‘old-fashioned’.
She decided to change it to ‘quaint’. A ‘quaint little greengrocer’.
Although that might have the same problem, if Mr. Elliot took umbrage at being called ‘little’…
she bit her lip, then saved and closed the document.
It would do for now. She would read it back at a later stage before sending it to the magazine.
And she needed to check that Anastasia and her partner were actually public about their relationship, too, and were happy to be mentioned.
The last thing she wanted was to reveal a secret like that.
Now her attention turned to the other article she’d been working on – one for an online blog about house prices, and the impact of second-home ownership on the housing market.
Far less exciting than the Cornwall series, but work was work, and they’d specifically asked her to pack this article full of lead magnets, words and phrases that would please the search engine algorithms and bring the article to the front page of people’s search results.
Dry, but it was the lesser-known backbone of content creation, and so she stretched one final time before knuckling back down.
She was interrupted some time later by Kivi entering the room.
“Oh!” the woman said in surprise, bringing Saskia back to Earth with a bump. “Have you been in here all day?”
“What time is it?” Saskia said, making her way with some effort to the edge of the chair so she could crane her neck back around to the doorway where Kivi stood.
“A quarter past two,” Kivi replied.
“Damn, I missed lunch,” Saskia said. “Lost track of time.”
“Were you not looking at the clock on your laptop?”
“I cover it up,” Saskia said. “Helps keep my mind on the job. Clock-watching is terrible for keeping one’s attention.”
“Do you want a late lunch? I can heat up a scone or two.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Saskia said on autopilot. “Skipping a meal won’t kill me. Plus, dinner’s in…” She tailed off, on Kivi’s frown. “What?”
“You never heard the concept of three square meals a day?”
Saskia’s mouth opened and shut a couple of times, mostly at the unusual phrasing, before she managed, “Of course I have.”
“You don’t believe in it?”
“I do! There’s just… room for flexibility, isn’t there? Once in a blue moon?”
“I suppose so.” But Kivi didn’t look convinced. In fact, she looked almost upset. “Well, the offer’s there. Just let me know in the next fifteen minutes or so. There are scones aplenty. And I won’t charge you. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“That’s very kind,” Saskia said, but she had already made up her mind to decline. Sure, skipping meals wasn’t a healthy habit, but it wasn’t like she was doing it all the time. Not like she used to. Kivi’s reaction was what was weirding her out more than anything.
They looked at each other a moment longer, then Kivi turned around and disappeared back in the guest house. Saskia had a feeling that there was something there that she was leaving unsaid. That perhaps she would have said, had they been simply friends, not guest and hostess.
If that was the case, perhaps it was better they didn’t form any kind of friendship.
At least for now.