Chapter Nine
Eloise trailed her hand along the banister as she descended the stairs the next morning.
Although she wasn’t going out just yet, she’d nevertheless dressed warmly in a jumper, a cord skirt, and thick woollen tights.
It was dank and overcast outside, and she suspected it was as cold as it looked.
Despite being tempted to stay indoors and work on the jigsaw some more, she wanted to get out and about.
The puzzle would still be there this afternoon, or whenever she got back.
Although today wasn’t a day for walking to the lighthouse or strolling across a deserted beach, it was a perfect day for exploring a country house, so she was going to pay a visit to Midcombe Manor, a stately nineteenth-century home not far from Honeycombe.
Breakfast first, though.
A few minutes earlier she’d heard a bedroom door close and guessed the noise was Mitch going downstairs, and when she entered the dining room, it was to find him already seated at one of the tables.
Nodding politely, she bade him good morning and deliberately sat at another, not wanting to intrude.
Besides, she preferred to eat her breakfast alone since she wasn’t much of a morning person.
She didn’t fancy sitting in silence though, because she’d then feel obliged to make conversation, so she got out of her seat to switch the TV on.
The familiar tune of the BBC news channel filled the air, and even though the headlines were depressing as usual, it was better than an awkward silence.
Mitch didn’t seem concerned, glancing at the screen briefly before turning his attention to the view from the window.
Despite trees covering some of the hillside below the guest house, it was possible to glimpse the sea through them, and although the view wasn’t nearly as good as it was from her bedroom window, it was still worth looking at.
If Eloise had a view like that from her sitting room in Northampton, she didn’t think she’d ever tire of it.
Two figures passed along the road, and Eloise recognised them as being the same young woman and her small son that she’d seen before, and she smiled at the sight of the child’s cheerful red wellies.
Wondering where they were going, when Bart appeared to take the breakfast orders a few minutes later, she said, “I thought this road was a dead end?”
“It is for traffic, but not for pedestrians. There’s a footpath leading through the woodland down to a small stream. It’s very popular with dog walkers.”
That was another route to explore, and maybe she’d take a walk out that way, but not today.
“What can I get you?” Bart asked.
“I’ll have something a bit lighter this morning. Scrambled eggs on toast? And by the way, I’ve decided to stay. After all, I’m here now and I doubt anywhere else will be any less Christmassy, will it?”
He took a second to respond, then a smile spread across his face. “I’m so glad. And what would you like for breakfast, Mitch?”
“The full works for me, please.” After Bart left, Mitch said to Eloise, “I can’t believe I’m hungry considering the big meal I had last night. I had a huge piece of fish and a scuttle of chips at this place in Barnstaple. Where did you go?”
“A little Italian restaurant.”
“Any good? I do like a pizza.”
Eloise bit back a smile as she remembered the pizza she’d eaten with Bart. “It was lovely. I had linguini.”
“Sounds nice,” Mitch replied, then fell silent again until Bart returned with his plate of bacon, eggs, sausage, and mushrooms. “Thanks. This looks wonderful,” Mitch said to him. “I want to do a bit of hiking while I’m here—where do you recommend?”
As Eloise tucked into her scrambled eggs, her mind was mostly on her own plans for the day, but every so often she glanced up at Bart as he made some suggestions.
Watching him animatedly chat to Mitch about the local area, her gaze was drawn to his eyes as they crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and the planes of his jaw and cheekbones.
He was a handsome man, but his good looks weren’t the only thing that attracted her.
She sensed a quiet strength underneath the friendly guest-house-owner exterior. This was a man who could be relied on.
Then she huffed to herself, thinking, You’ve changed your tune.
Only yesterday she was berating him for conning her into coming to Honeycombe Bay with the promise of a festiveless Christmas.
He hadn’t conned her, of course. As he’d rightly pointed out, she’d asked him for a room.
Until she’d phoned him, Bart clearly hadn’t intended on opening the house to guests, and she wondered whether he was regretting his impulsive decision to allow her, and subsequently Mitch, into his home and his life.
Actually, why had he?
She had asked him that very question on Friday (although in a roundabout way), but he hadn’t given her a proper answer. All he’d said was that she was his first guest since his wife had passed away.
But why was he taking in guests now? What had changed?
It mightn’t be any of her business, but it was another thing Eloise was curious about.
Bart had the house to himself. The breakfast rush was over (if serving two people could be called a “rush”), and both guests had now left for the day and wouldn’t return until much later.
Eloise had informed him she was off to visit Midcombe Manor, and Mitch was going for a hike along the three-mile stretch of Dune Beach.
Good luck to him, he thought with a shudder.
It was too cold and dismal to be spending hours traipsing up and down a patch of damp sand.
Still, each to their own, and his own was a nice warm house.
He’d get on with some chores, then he’d—
What?
Once he’d cleaned the kitchen, had laid the tables for tomorrow’s breakfast, and had seen to both guest rooms, Bart wouldn’t have anything else to do.
Which was why, a little over an hour later, he was standing in the guest lounge with the chores done and a mug of tea in his hand, gazing contemplatively at the barely begun jigsaw.
Penny used to love her jigsaws, but he’d never seen the point in them.
Why have a perfectly good picture only to break it into hundreds of bits, then try to put it back together again?
It wasn’t as though it could be hung on the wall afterwards, not with all the joins showing.
Penny used to try to explain the concept to him, how therapeutic it was, laughing gently at him when he didn’t get it, but he used to enjoy watching her poring over the table, deep in concentration, one of her soaps on in the background.
He’d be reading his book, she’d be doing her jigsaw, and all had been right with the world.
All the edges of this jigsaw had been filled in, forming a frame of sorts, and although the vast majority of the pieces were still in the box, Eloise had placed some of a similar colour, which may or may not be part of the sky in the top left-hand section, in that general area.
Bart leaned forward and peered closely at one of the pieces.
Would it fit there, he mused? No, that sticky-out bit wasn’t the right shape.
Almost, but not quite. But maybe this piece would work?
He picked it up and slotted it into place with a satisfied grunt.
He’d managed to fit in several more pieces and was feeling rather pleased with himself, if a tad guilty that he’d hijacked Eloise’s puzzle, when he heard a vehicle pull up outside.
Stepping hastily away from the table in case it was Eloise (he didn’t want to be caught in the act), he looked out the window to see Ross’s car. As he watched, the rear doors were flung open and his grandchildren tumbled out, followed more sedately by their parents.
Bart’s spirits lifted at the sight of them, nine-year-old Kelly especially.
She had Penny’s eyes and many of Penny’s mannerisms, including her zest for life.
His granddaughter’s exuberance reminded him of his wife when she’d been young.
Muted by the years, Penny had mellowed into a quiet joy, whereas Kelly was all noise and bounce.
His grandson, Dylan, was a much quieter child, more like himself.
Bart hurried to the door, and as soon as he opened it, the children barrelled in. He let out an “oof” as the kids launched into him for a hug.
Kelly’s contact was brief. “Hi, Grandpa. I’m starving. Can I have a biscuit?” And she was off, racing into the kitchen without waiting for an answer.
Dylan lingered a fraction longer, his little arms around Bart’s waist; then he was also gone, charging after his sister. “I want one too!” he yelled.
Bart stared fondly after them, shaking his head, a smile on his face. “Hi, kids,” he called at their retreating backs.
Amy shot past him. “Sorry, Bart, they’ve forgotten their manners.”
“No worries,” he said, as she hurried after her children.
Ross said, “They’re hyped up. They’ve been like it since they broke up from school on Friday.” He sighed theatrically. “We’ve got six more days of this, and I fear they won’t be any calmer after they’ve opened their presents.”
“I don’t envy you.” He recalled Ross being the same, but Penny had been there to smooth the edges of their son’s exuberance.
God, how he missed those days, and the ones that came after, when Ross had flown the nest and it was just him and Penny and the love they shared. And their guests, of course, but they’d been transient shadows flitting through their lives, leaving no trace.
“Are you okay, Dad?” Ross’s expression was full of concern. “You look tired.”
“I’m fine.”
Ross continued to scrutinise him. “I think reopening the guest house is a mistake. You’re having to run it single-handedly, now Mum’s not here. It’s too much for you.”
“It’s not,” Bart retorted shortly. He wasn’t finding it too much at all. He was enjoying it actually—apart from the little misunderstanding with Eloise yesterday. Thankfully she hadn’t checked out this morning, and money aside, he was pleased she was staying. Very pleased.
And because he didn’t want to have the I’m going to open the guest house full-time conversation with his son right now, he pressed his lips together and went in search of his grandchildren.
He found them in the kitchen, looking expectantly at the pantry door, and after getting a nod of approval from Amy, he gave them a biscuit each.
Amy said, “We didn’t realise there was a Christmas Extravaganza in Honeycombe.”
“Neither did I until yesterday.”
“We’re taking the kids to it. They’ve got an ice rink apparently, and a helter-skelter, and a Christmas market. We thought you might like to come with us?”
“Please come, Grandpa!” Kelly cried, skipping around the room, the biscuit in her hand. “I’m going to see Santa, and Mum said I can have a go on the ice rink.”
Bart gave her a regretful shake of the head. “I don’t think so, my lovely.” He wasn’t ready to launch himself into all things Christmassy just yet. Maybe next year.
“You don’t have to skate, you can watch, and we’re going to have hot chocolate with marshmallows after. You love hot chocolate.”
He didn’t mind it, but it had been Penny who’d loved it. Marshmallows, whipped cream, a flake…she used to have the works, and he’d lovingly make it for her. “I can’t; I’ve got things to do here.”
His daughter-in-law’s raised eyebrows and knowing look told him she wasn’t fooled. “If Grandpa doesn’t want to come, we shouldn’t try to make him,” Amy said to her daughter. “You don’t like it when someone tries to make you do something you don’t want to do.”
“But this will be fun,” the little girl protested.
“Not everyone’s idea of fun is the same as yours,” Amy pointed out.
“I’m going to ask Santa for a bike,” Dylan announced. “What do you want Santa to bring you, Grandpa?”
Bart ruffled his grandson’s tousled head, the boy’s hair sticking up at all angles from his bobble hat. “Socks,” he said. “You can never have too many pairs of socks.”
Dylan looked aghast. “Socks? That’s boring. Who wants socks?”
“You’d soon complain if you didn’t have any,” Bart responded evenly. “Your feet would get cold, and imagine how uncomfortable your shoes would be without them.”
“You’re making fun of me.” Dylan’s scowl was adorable.
“Just a little.”
“I’ve got socks with snowmen on,” Kelly informed him. She pulled up her trouser leg.
“Very festive,” Bart said.
“And we’re all wearing Christmas jumpers. Have you got a Christmas jumper?”
“Um, yes, I think so.” Or had he given it to the charity shop, along with Penny’s things after she’d died? He couldn’t remember.
“You should wear it,” Kelly told him, adding sagely, “Christmas only comes once a year, and we need to make the most of it. I wish it could be Christmas all year. I love Christmas. Don’t you, Grandpa?”
Dylan was frowning, his brows creased as he scanned the living room. “Where’s your Christmas tree, Grandpa?”
“I’m not putting one up this year.”
“Why?” The boy looked baffled.
“Because I’ve got people staying here who aren’t too keen on Christmas.”
“But everyone likes Christmas,” Dylan said, with absolute certainty. “You have to have a tree.”
“Not this year, champ.”
When Dylan opened his mouth to argue his case, Amy said, “Come on, you two, let’s leave your grandpa in peace. We’ve got Santa to see.”
Bart nodded at her, and she smiled gently back, resting a hand briefly on his arm. She got it. She understood.
But the concern in her eyes mirrored Ross’s, and this latest revelation only added fuel to it.
The last thing he wanted was to cause them any worry, and he didn’t get to spend as much time with his grandkids as he’d like, so by refusing to go simply because he wasn’t overflowing with Christmas spirit, he would be cutting off his nose to spite his face.
“Actually,” Bart said, “I think I will come with you after all. I’m not promising to go on any rides though, and you can forget ice skating. I’ll stand on the sidelines and watch.” And while he was there, he’d pop into the shop and buy a bottle of Baileys Irish Cream.
He knew someone who might appreciate a tipple or two…