Chapter Six
When Eloise attempted to get out of bed the following morning, she collapsed back onto the mattress with a groan.
Oh dear, she’d overdone it yesterday and was paying for it in the form of stiff knees, ankles, and hips, and aching calves and thighs.
Not only that, her throat felt scratchy and she had a runny nose.
Cross with herself, she lay there for a while, gingerly flexing her legs until she was able to inch them over the side of the bed and stand up.
The hobble towards the bathroom wasn’t a pretty sight, so it was lucky there wasn’t anyone to see it.
She would have liked a nice soak in the bath to loosen her up some more, but had to settle for a hot shower instead.
The steam helped clear her nose though, so that was good, and after a scalding mug of tea, her throat felt less irritated.
Still, if she continued to feel a little off-colour, she wouldn’t venture far today.
She’d have another enormous breakfast, which should keep her going until dinnertime, so she wouldn’t need to venture out for lunch.
If she was peckish later, she’d make a hot drink and avail herself of the complimentary biscuits.
And maybe if she asked nicely, Bart might even offer her another slice of the delicious cake.
As for dinner itself, she’d get something delivered—as long as Bart didn’t object.
In fact, if she asked him to join her and said it was her treat, he might be quite amenable to a slice or two of pizza, or a piece of battered cod with chips.
She’d see how she felt as the day progressed.
Bart was in the hall as she crabbed sideways down the stairs, her ankles reluctant to bend properly, and he hurried towards her in concern.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Walked too far yesterday, that’s all. I’ll be all right.” Then a sneeze took her unawares, and she would have fallen down the final step if Bart hadn’t lunged forward and caught her.
She stumbled against him, gasping in dismay at the unaccustomed contact as he stared at her, his hands on her waist. Her shock was mirrored on his face, and he swiftly released her.
“Oh dear, I’m sorry—” she began, as he said, “Oops, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, it’s lucky you did,” she said, smoothing her skirt with hands that suddenly needed something to do. “I would have landed flat on my face if you hadn’t caught me.”
“That wouldn’t have been good.”
“Definitely not.” She smiled awkwardly, and he pressed his lips together and nodded, equally embarrassed.
“Right,” he said in a no-nonsense tone. “Ready for breakfast?”
“Absolutely. I’m ravenous.”
“I didn’t hear you go out for a meal last night,” he said, his gaze darting away from hers before adding, “Not that I’m listening especially. I don’t want you to think I keep tabs on my guests. It’s just”—his expression was pained—“I’ve got used to being here alone, so I’m aware of every noise.”
“I’ll try to be quieter,” she said.
Bart looked aghast. “I don’t mean—”
“I was teasing,” she broke in, then went on to say, “I completely understand. When you live on your own, any unaccustomed noise makes you sit up and take notice.” She coughed delicately into a tissue. “Excuse me, I think I may have caught a cold.”
“Can I get you anything for it? Lemon and honey? Paracetamol?”
“No, thanks, I’ll be okay. But I don’t think I’ll be going far today—I suspect my legs wouldn’t carry me, anyway. I’ll stay here and read my book or do a jigsaw puzzle, if that’s all right?”
“You’re welcome to use the lounge whenever you want,” he said, gesturing for her to go ahead of him. “That’s what it’s there for. Now, full breakfast again, is it?”
“Yes, please.”
“Coffee, fruit, and yoghurt?”
She was pleased he remembered, even though she was his only guest so it wouldn’t have been difficult. “Yes, thank you.”
The breakfast was as equally well cooked and filling as yesterday, and Eloise ate every morsel. Then she returned to her bedroom, curled up in the armchair by the window with the bedspread tucked around her legs, and settled down to read.
“Are you any good at crosswords?” Bart heard Eloise call from the lounge later that morning.
“I used to do okay,” he replied, wandering into the room. He had a tea towel over his shoulder and a cruet set in his hand. He hadn’t done a crossword in a long time. Thinking about it, there were a great many things he hadn’t done in a long time. “What are you stuck on?”
She read, “The king has no successor, we hear. Four letters.”
“Bald,” he said, without hesitation.
She scrutinised him, her eyes narrowed in thought.
He explained, “Bald—no hair? No heir…” He spelled out the word H-E-I-R.
Her face cleared. “Knickers! I should have got that. It’s so obvious.”
“Sometimes we don’t always see what’s in front of our noses.”
“You can say that again,” she grumbled. “I’m not usually this woolly-headed.”
“How is your cold?” He felt sorry for her—being unwell in one’s own house was bad enough, but being unwell in someone else’s was ten times worse. And she was also on her own, which didn’t help.
Yet again, he found himself wondering why that was; Eloise was an attractive woman, and although she’d been a little spiky once or twice, he liked her.
She said, “I’m a bit sniffly and my throat is a little sore, but I think I’ll live.”
“I was about to have a cheese toastie for lunch. If you don’t feel like going out, would you care for one?”
“Gosh, is it lunchtime already?” She pulled aside the sleeve of her jumper and checked her watch. “I don’t know where this morning has gone.”
For once, Bart echoed the sentiment. His days usually dragged, lumbering morosely from one minute to the next with tortoise slowness.
Today, however, was speeding by, as he’d made sure the two bedrooms that would be used by his new guests were up to standard.
Penny’s standard. She used to set a high bar, refusing to tolerate even a speck of dust, and Bart didn’t want to let her down.
Eloise was saying, “That’s very kind, thank you. A cheese toastie would be lovely. Although I can’t believe I’m actually hungry after that enormous breakfast.”
“You know the old saying: Feed a cold and starve a fever.”
“I haven’t heard that in a while.”
“It’s one of Penny’s.” His stupid voice hitched, and he winced. Grief was like that—it descended on you at the most inopportune moments, like a canvassing politician knocking on the door when you were in the middle of eating your dinner.
He hoped Eloise hadn’t noticed, but she did, and instead of ignoring it or uttering the usual platitudes, she surprised him.
“How long ago did she pass?” she asked.
“A year last April.”
“Not long, then. Do you mind me asking, was it sudden?”
Heavily, his heart aching, he said, “I wish it had been. For her sake.”
“That must have been hard.”
“It still is. I nursed her as best I could, right to the end.”
“I suspect you did a good job. And you did it with love.”
Wordlessly, he nodded.
“Do you find it helps to keep busy? Is that why you decided to open in the off-season after all?”
Bart perched on the arm of a chair. “To tell the truth, you’re the first guest I’ve had since she passed away.
” He gave himself a mental shake. “Anyway, enough of this. You didn’t come here to listen to my troubles, you came here to enjoy yourself, and you can’t do that with me moaning in your ear. I’d better go make your toastie.”
“If you don’t have anything else to do, I wouldn’t mind some company while I eat. But don’t feel obliged,” she hurried to add. “I don’t expect you to entertain me as well as feed me—and please add it to my bill.”
“I’ll do no such thing!” he replied hotly, affronted she’d suggested it.
“It’s just a cheese toastie, and I did offer.
” He tried on a smile for size and discovered it fitted well enough.
Getting to his feet, he said, “As for being entertained, I used to do magic tricks when my boy was little. Or I could sing, if you prefer? I must warn you though, I’ve got a voice like a hippo drowning in treacle. ”
He appreciated Eloise joining in with his attempt to lighten the mood as she rolled her eyes and retorted, “I think I’d rather watch the rubbish on daytime TV—including the adverts—because if you don’t join me for lunch, that’s what I’ll be forced to do.”
“We can’t have that, can we?” he teased. “You might see something festive, and then where would we be since I promised you a Christmas-free break?”
“Yes, let’s keep the Christmas cheer to a minimum. Although…” She paused, shamefaced. “I have been known to enjoy a small glass of Baileys Irish Cream.”
Bart gasped in mock horror and clapped his palms to his cheeks. “Traitor!” he cried, and was rewarded with a laugh.
As he went off to make some lunch, he realised he was glad he’d decided to reopen the guest house. She certainly made the place feel less gloomy. Made him feel less gloomy.
It was actually rather nice having someone else in the house, and she was pleasant company. More than pleasant—he liked her. Eating lunch with her wouldn’t be onerous at all. In fact, it would be lovely not to eat on his own.
The money aside, maybe having Eloise here over Christmas would work out okay, he mused.
Then he remembered that two more guests were arriving shortly, which would change the dynamic of his house yet again, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Two things happened simultaneously later that evening: The first was the ringing of the doorbell, and the second was the ringing of the telephone. Eloise guessed the doorbell signalled the arrival of the pizza she’d ordered, so she went to get it, leaving Bart to answer his phone.
A young lad wearing a motorbike helmet was holding out a couple of pizza boxes, which Eloise took off him with a smile and a generous tip.
She was relieved Bart had agreed to share a pizza with her, because not only did she want to repay him for his kindness in providing her with lunch and a mid-afternoon slice of lemon cake, but she would have also felt downright rude ordering food for herself and not including him.
It would be a different matter if she’d been one of several guests, but since she was the only resident at present, she would have felt guilty.
Eloise had carried the pizzas through to the dining area, where a chilled bottle of cola was waiting in the centre of a table laid for two, and had opened the large box and was gazing greedily at the half roasted Mediterranean vegetable and half chicken and chorizo pizza (they hadn’t been able to agree, so had gone for half-and-half) when Bart came in, an odd expression on his face.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
“The woman who’s booked in for Tuesday has cancelled.”
“Oh, I am sorry” was Eloise’s automatic reply.
She was rather pleased though, because she was quite enjoying being the only guest—until she remembered Bart mentioning he was expecting a second, and that the second guest was a man.
Ideally, she would have preferred it to be the man who had cancelled and not the woman, because the woman would have been someone to chat to and possibly strike up a friendship with.
Bart shrugged. “Cancellations are par for the course in this business. Let’s hope Mitch Hastings is still coming.” He peered into the box and sniffed appreciatively. “That smells good. It looks good, too. I haven’t had pizza in God knows how long.”
He poured her a glass of cola, and they settled down to eat.
Eloise tried a slice of Bart’s chicken and chorizo, and in return he ate some of her roasted vegetable.
Soft jazz from the old-fashioned record player he’d carried in earlier drifted around the room, and a fire crackled and spat in the hearth.
With the thick drapes drawn against the cold, dark December night, the atmosphere could have felt too intimate; however, the conversation wasn’t, thankfully.
After Bart had taken his first mouthful of pizza and declared it to be very good indeed, he said, “So, what are your plans for your stay? Got anything lined up?”
Eloise dabbed at her mouth with a serviette before she spoke.
“Some nice long walks, weather permitting. Maybe visit a historic house or two. I’ll see what’s on at the Pavilion theater as well, although I have a horrible suspicion it’ll be a pantomime.
And I’m sure I can find a museum or a wildlife park to visit.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to spend all my time hogging the lounge. ”
“It wouldn’t matter if you did,” Bart said. “Please don’t feel obliged to go out if the weather’s bad or you’re not feeling up to it. Talking about not feeling up to it, how is your cold?”
“It doesn’t appear to have come to much,” she replied with relief. Spending today indoors, keeping warm, eating well, and relaxing had done her the world of good. “I’m planning on a nice walk to the harbour and a wander around Honeycombe tomorrow.” She was already looking forward to it.
“There mightn’t be much open,” Bart reminded her. “Honeycombe Bay can be rather empty this time of year.”
“I don’t mind in the slightest. After all, that’s what I’ve come here for—to escape the madness.”
So a quiet wander around the village, followed by a stop off in The Honey Pot Café for a sandwich and a hot drink, would suit her just fine.