Chapter Thirty-One
Mitch hoisted the box into his arms, announcing theatrically, “This one is full of bricks.”
“It’s my toys, Mitch,” Toby informed him.
“Nuh-uh—bricks. It must be. It’s so heavy.” He pretended to stagger under the weight.
“You’re silly.”
Mitch looked affronted. “He called me silly.”
“That’s because you are,” Sarah told him, reaching for another, smaller box nestled in the boot of Bart’s car.
“I’m hurt. I can’t believe you both think I’m silly.” With a mock huff, he stalked off, but he was grinning from ear to ear. So was Sarah as she followed behind, leaving Bart to round up Toby.
There was nothing left to unload. These were the last of the boxes, and the furniture he’d donated to her was already in situ. Mitch had hired a small van to shift it, leaving only a few bits and bobs to be taken in the boot of Bart’s car to Sarah’s new house.
“Are you sure about this?” had become a familiar refrain whenever Bart had offered Sarah an item from the guest house.
After all, he wouldn’t have any need of four double beds and two singles, or of five wardrobes.
He doubted whether anyone who bought Sea View would want them either, so if Sarah could make use of some of the furniture, she was welcome to it.
Even if it wasn’t to her taste, it was good quality and would see her through until she replaced it.
Her house was a modern two-up, two-down terrace on the outskirts of Barnstaple, within walking distance of the town centre and the river running through it, and was perfect for her and Toby.
To Bart’s dismay, it hadn’t taken long for Sarah to find a place to live, and he’d been even more dismayed that it wasn’t in Honeycombe Bay.
But he was being selfish. She would be happy here, and that was the only thing that mattered.
Anyway, Barnstaple was only a short drive away.
If anyone was being silly, it was him, not Mitch.
“This is the box with the kettle and the tea bags,” Sarah announced, placing it on a worktop in the compact galley kitchen. “Who wants a cuppa?”
“Not for me, thanks, I have to get back,” Bart said.
Her face fell. “Already? Can’t you stay for a few minutes?”
He should have said no when the estate agent messaged him this morning to ask if he could value the guest house this afternoon: The chap had a “window in his schedule,” apparently, though Bart read it as a “cancellation.”
Now that Sarah had moved out, Bart was keen to get the house on the market. She didn’t know he was selling up, and he hadn’t said anything because he hadn’t wanted her to think he was eager for her to leave. He’d meant it when he’d told her she could stay as long as she needed.
“I can’t,” he explained, realising that now was the ideal time to tell her. “I’ve got a meeting with an estate agent.”
She froze in the act of removing the kettle from the box. “You’re selling Sea View?”
“I’m afraid I am.”
“So that’s why you kept insisting I take your furniture! You told me you were going to update the rooms before the season starts!”
“I lied. I’m sorry.”
“But why?”
“Because I didn’t want you to feel I was hurrying you out.”
Sarah shook her head impatiently. “No, not that. Why are you selling? You love your house.”
“I do, but it’s time to move on. It’s too big for one person, and I don’t want to run a B then we’ll talk business. As you’re aware, the property is rather old-fashioned, so it’ll require some updating, which should be reflected in the asking price.”
“I thought period features were on trend these days?”
“Some, such as the cornices and fireplaces, are; others, like the fifteen-year-old kitchen, aren’t.”
There’s nothing wrong with my kitchen, Bart thought indignantly.
Okay, so it wasn’t sleek, shiny, and minimalist like Ross and Amy’s, but it hadn’t been cheap, and it had been well looked after.
It was a working kitchen, designed to make upwards of ten full English breakfasts every morning; it wasn’t a blinking showpiece!
And he and Penny had cooked an evening meal in it every day for years.
Then he sighed, his indignation slipping into acknowledgment as he guessed that someone like his daughter-in-law would want a more modern affair.
After the estate agent finally left, Bart told himself that the man must know what he was talking about—after all, he did this for a living, and his commission was based on the price a property sold for—and resolved to accept what he said.
Bart might love the old place just the way it was, but so be it.
He wasn’t prepared to let it go for a song, but neither was he going to insist on an unrealistic asking price, with the risk that the guest house wouldn’t sell for months and months. Every week he continued to live in it was a drain.
Retreating to his sitting room, he caught Penny’s eye.
She stared sightlessly out of the photo, and he picked it up with a sigh before opening a sideboard drawer and placing it gently inside.
Mitch was right. He should take his own advice. But he was scared. He never thought he’d recover from Penny’s death. He never thought he’d love again, never thought he would find another woman he could give his heart to.
Then Eloise had come into his life and bowled him over.
Surely that was worth fighting for?
He had to do it face-to-face though. Not with a phone call or a message. He wanted to stare into her eyes when he told her he was in love with her, because only then would he know whether she could ever have any feelings for him.
With renewed resolve, Bart reached for his coat and car keys. It was time to put the past behind him. He would never forget Penny (how could he?), but he had to look to the future. And maybe, if he was fortunate, that future would have Eloise in it.
But when he slipped behind the wheel of his car, he realised the future would have to wait—because the bloody engine wouldn’t start!
When Eloise’s mobile phone pinged with a message, she smiled when she saw a photo of Toby’s face beaming back at her.
He was holding up hands covered in paint, and the next image she saw was a picture of his palm prints, along with the caption For you, Nana Weez!
(clearly written by his mother). It warmed her heart to think he hadn’t forgotten her.
Not yet. He would do soon enough. And that was to be expected.
Seeing that Sarah was still online, Eloise typed, How was the move? And when her mobile immediately rang, she was delighted. “Sarah!” she cried. “Have you finished unpacking yet?”
“Not quite. We’ve been at it all day and I’m bushed. Toby, as you can see, isn’t.” She turned the screen around so Eloise could see Toby’s paint-streaked face. Mitch, who was sitting at the table with him, wasn’t faring much better. They’d clearly been having a good time.
Sarah continued, “I promised to send you some photos of the house, but I thought a video call would be nicer. Do you want to see?”
“Absolutely!”
“Okay, this is the living room…” Sarah scanned the camera around three hundred and sixty degrees, then turned the screen back to her face, showing Eloise her wide smile.
“You’ve got a sofa just like the one in the guest sitting room at Sea View,” Eloise noted with surprise.
“It’s the same one; Bart gave it to me.” She swapped the camera again. “See the garden? It’s not very big, but I reckon we can get a couple of chairs out there and a paddling pool in the summer.”
Eloise watched as Sarah proceeded to show her around the kitchen, then up the stairs.
“Excuse the mess; I haven’t had a chance to put my clothes away yet, but I have made both beds, so that’s a bonus.
Thank goodness it was dry today, so we didn’t get soaked moving the furniture. Do you recognise this?”
Eloise found herself looking at a familiar nightstand. And wasn’t that the same wardrobe that had been in her bedroom in Sea View?
“Bart has been very sly,” Sarah said. “I think you’ve been giving him lessons.”
“I don’t understand.”
She turned the camera around again so Eloise could see her face, and perched on the end of the bed.
“He told me he was going to update the guest house before the season started, and that I should take my pick of the furniture because it would go to the charity shop if I didn’t want it, and I stupidly believed him. He’s not updating at all—he’s selling.”
“Selling Sea View?”
“Uh-huh.” Sarah nodded.
“But why? He loves that house.”
“That’s exactly what I said. Please don’t let on I’ve told you, but he can’t afford to live there anymore.”
“Business can’t be that bad, surely? It’s only January; I’m positive bookings will pick up when spring gets going.”
“He says he doesn’t want to own a B&B anymore.”
“What?”
“There’s something else.” Sarah paused. “I’m sorry, but I told Mitch about you and Bart and the pantry thing, and before Bart left today Mitch had a word with him.
I know you said it was complicated when I asked you about it, but I got the feeling you really like him.
And I know for a fact he likes you too.”
“As a friend,” Eloise pointed out, but her pulse hammered in her ears and her mouth was dry.
“Not just as a friend. Mitch thinks he’s in love with you.”
“Nonsense! He’s still grieving for Penny.”
“Yes, and I expect he always will, but that doesn’t mean he can’t fall in love again. Anyway, I thought you’d better know. I hope I haven’t upset you?”
“You haven’t, but I’m pretty sure Mitch got the wrong end of the stick.”
But was she?
After Sarah said goodbye, Eloise felt restless and unable to settle. Was Bart really in love with her? Had he really put Sea View on the market?
An internet search of the most popular property websites didn’t reveal anything, but maybe a commercial property like his would be marketed differently, she thought, scrolling through the handful of houses for sale in Honeycombe, briefly pausing at a cute cottage with vines growing on its walls and remembering how she’d seen something similar and thought how lovely it would be to live there.
A sudden longing swept over her, and in a moment of impulse, her finger hovered over Bart’s number on her mobile, but she didn’t press it.
Instead, she made a decision.
Eloise was going back to Honeycombe Bay.