Chapter 5
Chapter Five
T he following morning, Dilly drew back the curtains and surveyed the coastline. Under the cloudless sky, the view over Blue Water Bay was simply breathtaking, the waves sparkling like diamonds as they rolled onto the sandy shore. The gallery was due to open in the next hour and she’d decided today was the day she was going to start a special painting that she planned to unveil at the opening of her new gallery.
After a quick shower, Dilly tied her hair up in her signature messy bun, slipped into her favourite dungarees and stepped into her Birkenstocks. The table was still cluttered with financial documents, which she quickly gathered and moved to the dresser before preparing her breakfast. Yesterday, after collecting her paints and easels from the beach, she’d settled onto the sofa and delved into researching the lighthouse, trying to estimate its true value. Knowing her budget limitations, which might disadvantage her against other bidders, she tried to stay optimistic. Despite finding no concrete valuation online, similar lighthouses in comparable condition had sold for around three hundred thousand pounds, but who knew what was going to happen at the auction. For the rest of the evening, she’d browsed through countless recipes on TikTok and Instagram, searching for something manageable to impress Max during their dinner tomorrow night. While she could easily opt for Clemmie’s homemade lasagne or pie from the tearoom, there was a part of her that craved the satisfaction of cooking herself. When she was with Giles, he’d never allowed her to cook. He preferred Michelin-star restaurants and lavish expenditure on his credit card, which she now knew was likely funded by his scams and the unsuspecting victims he’d exploited.
With her laptop still open from the night before, Dilly wiggled the mouse and the recipe she had chosen appeared on the screen. She had a soft spot for Jamie Oliver recipes, and with fresh fish abundant from the island’s fishmonger, she settled on a fish pie. The recipe suggested it would be delicious to eat with baked beans in a tomato sauce, a quirky twist that the reviews insisted was a must and surprisingly delicious. Dilly decided to go for it, planning to serve it with steamed green beans tossed in lemon juice, olive oil and chopped red onion. She could pick up the ingredients during her lunch break, and with the gallery closing at four-thirty, she had ample time to prepare the meal.
After unlocking the front door of the gallery and flipping the closed sign to open, she relocated her laptop to her desk at the back of the gallery space. Her morning routine was always the same, checking and responding to important emails before setting up her paints for the day. As usual, her inbox was full to the brim; there were several website inquiries about specific paintings for sale, and interview requests, including one from the Sunday Times supplement, awaiting her attention. Then one email in particular caught her eye, prompting her to exclaim aloud, ‘Whoa! I wasn’t expecting that!’, completely taken aback.
‘Not expecting what?’ Clemmie breezed through the door with a smile.
Dilly slammed down the laptop lid.
Clemmie narrowed her eyes. ‘What’s on the laptop? You’re acting very suspicious. What don’t you want me to see? And are you blushing? You are blushing! Spill it.’
‘I’m not blushing!’ Dilly protested. ‘Well, maybe just a little, but that email should have come with a warning.’
‘Show me!’ Clemmie moved to the side of the table, and Dilly swivelled the laptop towards her. She lifted the lid slightly, and Clemmie tilted her head to the side.
‘Jeez! I never pegged you for looking at porn this early in the morning.’
‘I’d hope you wouldn’t think I’d look at porn at any time of the day!’
‘Are these your fans, sending you dick pics? You find that, don’t you? The second you become well known people think it’s okay to send you anything.’
‘I don’t find that,’ she grinned, ‘and this isn’t porn. I have to choose a male model for our art class. I thought if we kicked off with a gorgeous life model in the first week, it would entice our new arty friends back.’
‘You do know the majority of your friends are only coming because you’ve promised a nude male model, don’t you? Not much goes on, on this island, and we have to embrace any chance of excitement.’
Dilly laughed. ‘It all goes on, on this island and we all know who holds most of the secrets.’
‘My grandmother! What she doesn’t know about this island isn’t worth knowing.’ Clemmie’s eyes twinkled. ‘I can’t believe the agency actually gives you a choice.’ She pulled up a chair.
‘What are you doing?’
‘At times like this, I think you need your best friend. We need to study them and make the right decision. We don’t want all the new budding artists to be disappointed, now do we?’
‘Clemmie, you’re terrible! Shouldn’t you be opening the tearoom?’
‘It’s in my grandmother’s capable hands for the next half-hour. I needed to run some errands and thought I would call in on my way past, and now I’m glad I did. This shouldn’t be a decision you make on your own.’
Dilly gave Clemmie a mischievous smile and moved the laptop between them. She opened the lid slowly. ‘Why is it I feel like a naughty schoolgirl?’
‘They are professionals, and this is their job. I wonder if there are any rising stars amongst them.’ Clemmie giggled. ‘I’m curious to know how much they earn.’
‘It’s actually quite lucrative. Would you believe they can make three to four grand a month? But I wouldn’t fancy it much in winter.’
‘Wow! I would never have thought of that. You pick your top three, and I’ll pick mine. They definitely come in all shapes and sizes. Can we zoom in?’
‘Clemmie!’
‘Just joking!’ she replied playfully, writing her top three on a piece of paper and folding it over like she was doing a school test. ‘I don’t want you copying mine.’
Dilly shook her head in jest as she did the same. ‘Let’s compare.’
Turning over the paper they both laughed, seeing they’d selected the same models. ‘Great minds!’ they chorused in unison.
‘I’m thinking Pierre for the first session. He’s got a good pose, interesting facial features, some asymmetry in limb placement. His photo shows emotion.’
Clemmie stared at Dilly. ‘Professional through and through. I would say, he has a fabulous chest, great thighs and…’
‘Stop there!’
‘Pierre it is!’ Clemmie stood up and checked her watch. ‘I’d best get these errands run.’
‘You’d best. I’ll see you later.’
Dilly was still laughing as Clemmie closed the door behind her. She could always rely on her friends to put a smile on her face.
After confirming Pierre with the agency, Dilly switched on the lights and slipped her painting smock over her dungarees before walking into the paint room at the back of the gallery. The long table was a riot of colour, covered in bottles of paint in every imaginable shade. Paintbrushes, their bristles stained and worn, were stored in numerous jam jars. Piled up in the sink were palettes caked with dried paint, and against the wall, blank canvases of various sizes stood in stacks. In the corner, propped up on the easel, was the blank canvas on which she was about to start. Unlike her usual whimsical landscapes filled with puffins and the seaside, this one would never be for sale. It was deeply personal to her, a portrait of her mother.
The photo she was painting from rested on the easel’s ledge, a poignant reminder of a cherished moment frozen in time. It had been taken the night before Eva left Puffin Island for her holiday with Anton, captured at The Sea Glass Restaurant during their anniversary celebration. It was the last photo she ever took of her mother.
Dilly vividly recalled her mother’s excitement that evening about their impending holiday. Her glowing skin, elegantly styled hair, and a stunning diamond necklace gifted by Anton. The three of them had savoured lobster and champagne, unaware it would be their final dinner together. As they left the restaurant they said goodnight, exchanging hugs and a kiss on the cheek. Little did Dilly know it was to be their last goodbye.
Dilly carefully mixed the paint colours she needed on her palette, arranging everything just right in the quiet space at the back of the gallery. Some days, she enjoyed sitting near the window, allowing tourists to observe her creative process and ask questions. But today, she wanted to immerse herself in her thoughts as she wetted her brush and began to paint.
Whenever she thought of her mother, a dull ache would grip her chest and she couldn’t help remembering that fateful day when she lost her.
It had started off as one of the happiest days of her life. As part of the PR campaign for the Netflix series, she was featured in one of the national newspapers and she’d rushed to the island shop the day after the show had premiered, grabbed a copy of the newspaper and hurried to the tearoom. With Clemmie by her side, they eagerly flipped through to the lifestyle supplement, where her own face greeted them from the cover under the headline: WHERE DREAMS AND REALITY INTERTWINE . Five pages unfolded from there, detailing her journey as an artist, what inspired her paintings, and a link to her website showcasing her paintings for sale.
They hadn’t even turned to page five when Dilly’s emails started pinging incessantly. Within ten minutes, traffic to her website had quadrupled, and thousands of pounds’ worth of original paintings had been sold along with numerous print copies. Shell-shocked, Dilly found it hard to believe. Checking her bank account confirmed a healthy balance, like nothing she had ever seen before. From that moment on, she was thrust into the limelight, her name and work catapulted to worldwide fame overnight. She vividly remembered Clemmie’s embrace, her friend sharing in her excitement, knowing the years of hard work that had led to this moment. Outside the tearoom, she called her mum, but it went straight to voicemail. Her words stumbled over each other in disbelief and joy as she asked her mum to call her back. Sending a photo of the newspaper, she waited anxiously, but there was no response.
With the newspaper tucked under her arm, she’d walked home, and as she turned onto Anchor Way, her heart sank at the sight of a police car parked on the cobbled street. Two policemen stood outside the gallery, and panic surged. The thought Have I been robbed? raced through her mind. Had she become a target for theft so quickly after the TV show’s release?
‘Delilah Waters?’
‘Y-yes,’ she stuttered, glancing nervously toward the gallery. Everything appeared undisturbed.
‘Would it be possible to go inside?’
She nodded and unlocked the door, a sinking feeling settling in her gut. As the police officers delivered the devastating news, a strangled cry escaped her and tears streamed down her cheeks. Her mother and stepfather, on their holiday, had been enjoying a stroll along a narrow, winding road when a speeding car had struck them, hurling them into the sea. The driver of the car had also been killed, having lost control of the vehicle on the bend and plunged into the water below. Despite a witness being present, the bodies had not been found, likely swept away by the sea.
Two years had passed since that tragic day, and the lack of closure had always weighed heavily on Dilly’s mind. Without a body to mourn properly, she had travelled to France, standing on the very road where their lives had been taken. She still wished desperately that it was nothing more than a terrible dream.
Back in the present, the causeway opened and soon streams of tourists were meandering through the cobbled streets of Puffin Island. The morning flew by, and as lunchtime approached, she removed her smock, grabbed her bag and purse, and locked up the gallery. She strolled in a leisurely manner towards The Fisherman’s Catch, a quaint fishmonger’s hut nestled in the harbour. Intent on fresh haddock, she swiftly made her purchase before heading back toward Blue Water Bay, the sun’s warmth kissing her face. A smile played on her lips, as she thought about spending the evening with Max. It couldn’t begin soon enough.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Dilly closed the gallery and set her plan in motion. First, she needed to prepare the pie and pop it into the oven, then indulge in a quick shower with the brand-new body wash she’d ordered online. The table was already laid, though she hesitated, unsure if it was too extravagant. She had draped her favourite tablecloth over the round table in the open-plan kitchen, and brought out the posh wine glasses usually reserved for Christmas, along with her finest plates. In the centre of the table, she’d arranged a couple of wild roses that she’d picked from a bush outside the gallery, and complemented it all with a few tealights.
‘It’s too much,’ she murmured to herself, debating whether it looked too romantic for just an evening at home. Removing the flowers and candles left the table looking bare, so, thinking she might as well go for it, she placed them back on the table before slipping her apron over her head and gathering the ingredients from the fridge.
After preheating the oven, Dilly began to follow the recipe from her laptop, which was open on the worktop. First, she boiled the potatoes in salted water, briefly cooking them before adding the eggs to boil for eight minutes until hard. Meanwhile, she steamed the spinach until it was tender. Draining the potatoes and peeling and quartering the eggs, she hummed along to the radio while preparing a creamy mixture of onion, carrot, olive oil, cream, cheese, lemon juice, mustard and parsley in a frying pan. All she had to do was add the bite-sized chunks of fish, mash the potatoes and add everything together.
Unwrapping the fish, Dilly let out a squeal as two pairs of eyes stared back at her.
‘Oh my God.’ She stepped back instinctively, though the fish couldn’t possibly move as they were dead. She had no idea how to gut a fish. She had requested the freshest haddocks available, not expecting Bill to fetch them straight from the net on a boat that had just arrived in the harbour.
The kitchen, once comfortably warm, now felt stifling. Flustered, Dilly hurriedly opened the window, letting in a rush of fresh air. Why had she volunteered to cook tonight? She should have just made life easy and picked something up from the tearoom. Everything had been going smoothly until this moment and now it was turning into a complete disaster. Staring at the fish, she wondered what the hell she was going to do now.
Taking a deep breath, Dilly tried to compose herself. How difficult could it be to gut a fish? She tapped on the keyboard and opened up YouTube. There she watched a video of a fishmonger expertly cutting off the fins, slicing through the belly, and chopping off the head. Despite her determination, Dilly winced and instinctively brought the back of her hand up to her mouth, suddenly feeling nauseous. Closing her eyes briefly, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it, so she quickly wrapped up the fish and returned them to the fridge. She wouldn’t be eating fish any time soon.
With the fridge empty of any other options, Dilly focused on finishing the meal. After mashing the potatoes, she spread them evenly over the creamy sauce in the dish, sprinkled them with cheese, and placed the whole thing in the oven. Disappointed that her planned recipe had gone awry, she resigned herself to a simpler dinner. Tonight’s meal would just have to be pie.
Five minutes later she jumped in the shower and soon after, the second disaster struck. Dilly stood wrapped in a towel in front of her wardrobe, confronted by her tragic fashion sense. Jumpers were haphazardly shoved onto shelves, piles of jeans teetered precariously, dresses hung askew on their hangers, and mismatched shoes littered the floor. With a sigh, she surveyed her collection, mostly consisting of comfortable, paint-splattered clothes. She swiped up and down the hangers, but nothing seemed to stand out.
Her phone pinged.
I hope you don’t mind, but I got your phone number from your website. I’m looking forward to tonight x
The first thing Dilly noticed was the kiss at the end of the message. She tried to dismiss it as a casual gesture people often used in texts, but she couldn’t ignore the goosebumps that prickled her skin at the thought of spending the evening with Max. Excitement surged through her entire body.
I don’t mind at all. See you in thirty x
As she saved his number to her phone Dilly couldn’t help but smile. Memories from college flooded back, specifically how the girls in his art class had always tried in vain to get his number – and now she had it securely stored in her phone. She found herself thinking about him more and more as she glanced at the clock. Now he was due to arrive in twenty-five minutes. Damn, time was slipping away, and she still hadn’t decided what to wear. Then her eyes fell on her ditzy flower summer dress. Perfect. She pulled it off the hanger and slipped it over her head.
‘Shit.’
The dress wouldn’t budge past her bust. She tugged and wriggled, but the fabric gave way with a loud rip. Frustration and embarrassment flooded her as she managed to free herself from the ruined dress and stared at the gaping tear at the back.
She muttered angrily at herself, knowing she hadn’t been taking care of herself since Giles. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d prepared a nutritious meal. She was furious at herself for falling into such unhealthy habits, but there was nothing to be done; there was no magic cure to lose at least half a stone in the next twenty minutes.
Now the oven started beeping, signalling that time was running out before Max arrived – and still the panicking Dilly needed to get dressed. Opting for comfort, she settled on some stretchy and forgiving cargos and a nice sweater. It wasn’t quite the drop-dead-gorgeous look she had envisioned, but she made a mental promise to invest in some new clothes and start taking better care of herself, beginning right now… well, maybe tomorrow, as there was chocolate roulade for dessert and she wasn’t going to let that go to waste. After running a brush through her hair, she admired her sun-kissed skin in the mirror, noticing the long line of freckles across her nose that had appeared after painting in the harbour under yesterday’s sunshine. At least something was going right for her today.
With the oven still beeping, Dilly hurried to the kitchen, grabbed her oven gloves and checked on the pie. Satisfied, she lowered the temperature and quickly set to work cooking the greens and warming up a can of baked beans. Pouring herself a glass of her favourite wine, she took a quick sip, savouring the brief moment of calm, just as the doorbell rang. Setting down her glass, she hurried downstairs to the gallery and unlocked the front door.
On the other side stood Max, his smile warm and welcoming. ‘Hi,’ he greeted, holding up a bottle. ‘I didn’t know if you preferred red or white. I opted for white.’
Dilly opened the door wider and was pleasantly surprised when Max stepped inside the gallery and kissed her on both cheeks. She caught his familiar aroma immediately. It was the same aftershave he had worn all those years ago. Briefly closing her eyes, she savoured the nostalgia that washed over her. When she opened her eyes, Max had an amused look on his face.
‘I’m sorry, I got lost for a moment there.’ She grinned. ‘That’s the same aftershave you always wore in class.’
‘It is. You have a very good memory. Some things never change,’ Max replied. ‘This is for you.’
In his other hand, he held a package wrapped in brown paper. Dilly recognised the signature wrapping and personalised sticker from The Story Shop on Lighthouse Lane.
‘It’s from one of my favourite shops.’
‘The Story Shop is quite something. I could spend hours in there. After browsing the travel section dreaming of Italy, I ventured into the classics, but it was the art bookcase where I stumbled upon this and immediately thought of you.’ Max handed her the book.
Dilly eagerly tore open the paper and let out a small gasp. ‘I can’t believe you remembered.’ She held up Robert Henri’s The Art Spirit , one of the most inspiring books she had ever read. ‘“A classic work of advice, criticism and inspiration for lovers of art,”’ she read from the back cover.
‘Lovers of art, indeed,’ Max said warmly, gazing into her eyes. ‘You probably have your own copy.’
Dilly shook her head with a smile. ‘I haven’t, even though it’s one of my favourite books of all time.’ Without thinking, she leaned in and kissed Max on the cheek, lingering for a moment to savour that all-too-familiar scent that had taken her by surprise a moment ago. Her heart fluttered slightly as she pulled away slowly. ‘Such an amazing gift. Thank you.’
‘I’m glad you like it.’
‘I do, thank you. I’ll treasure it. Come on, let me get you a drink.’
They made their way through the gallery and climbed a wrought-iron spiral staircase that led directly upstairs to Dilly’s living room. Max paused in surprise. ‘Woah, look at this. I wasn’t expecting that.’
‘It’s something else, isn’t it?’ Dilly replied.
‘Isn’t it just,’ Max agreed, holding Dilly’s gaze before turning back to admire the view.
‘There’s nothing better than pulling back the curtains and seeing the beautiful turquoise sea gazing back at you.’
‘This place is perfect. Gorgeous furnishings, fabulous wall art, and you get to wake up to exceptional views of the bay,’ Max observed.
Dilly’s open-plan living room was stylish, light and airy, decorated in sea greens and blue tones that echoed the ocean panorama beyond.
‘Why would you want to give this up?’ Max asked, looking out towards the lighthouse.
Pouring the wine, Dilly replied, ‘I’m not giving it up, I just want a little more living space.’
‘I could sit here for hours watching the waves roll in, and it must be amazing when it rains,’ Max mused.
Cuddling up on the sofa with a heated throw and a good book while the rain lashed against the window was one of Dilly’s favourite pastimes.
‘It’s very atmospheric. This place was my mum’s before she married Anton. In fact, this place is the reason they met,’ Dilly explained. ‘There’s an antique shop next door, and Anton was an antique dealer. One afternoon, during a thunderstorm, he had an appointment at the shop but arrived early, only to find it closed. At the time, Mum’s shop had just opened – Waggy Tails, a classy boutique for lovable pets. He stepped inside to take shelter from the rain, and the rest is history, as they say. Let me get you a drink.’
Dilly placed the book gently on the coffee table and poured Max a glass of wine, taking it to him where he was standing in front of the window.
‘Cheers,’ she said, clinking her glass against his. ‘It’s really lovely to see you again.’
‘And you,’ Max replied, his eyes lingering on hers before taking a sip. ‘What will you do with this place? If you buy the lighthouse.’
‘I was originally thinking of using it for storage…’
Max looked horrified. ‘You can’t use a place like this for storage.’
She smiled. ‘Of course I’m not using it for storage! I’m going to use it for art classes!’ She stretched her arm towards the magnificent view. ‘I want to give back to the local creative community by making this a community gallery that nurtures new talent in the area and showcases their work. That view would inspire many.’
‘Without a doubt, it would. You are amazing and I think that’s a perfect idea.’ Max smiled. ‘There was a lot of talent around when I worked at the college but no outside art community as such. To showcase their work in a space like this would be incredible for them.’
‘It would. Dinner is ready, if you’d like to take a seat?’
‘I have to say I’m absolutely starving. What are we eating?’ Max asked eagerly, peering towards the oven before pulling out a chair at the table.
‘It’s a surprise pie,’ Dilly revealed with a smile, as she plated up the greens and placed the baked beans in a separate dish.
‘This looks interesting. Baked beans and green beans.’
‘Jamie Oliver said the baked beans are a must,’ Dilly remarked, moving aside the vase of roses to place the pie dish in the centre of the table.
‘Dil, that looks amazing and smells…’ Max leaned forward to inhale deeply. ‘What does it smell like? What kind of pie do we have here?’
‘It’s a simple fish pie,’ she explained, scrunching her face in thought. ‘I went down to the fishmongers…’
‘Fish pie? Excellent! I love fish pie and it’s been a while since I’ve made it. Since being on my own, I don’t seem to cook very often. In fact, I can’t even remember the last time I ate greens. Lately, I find myself at Beachcomber Bakery every lunchtime,’ Max admitted with a chuckle.
‘Robin’s sausage rolls and pasties are to die for, though,’ Dilly said with a grin. ‘But not good on the waistline.’
‘Thank you for this.’ Max looked genuinely appreciative.
‘It’s my pleasure. I’m the same, to be honest, I’ve not been looking after myself since…’ Dilly paused, stopping the name Giles from slipping out. The last thing she wanted was to start the night with a conversation about a man whom she held in such contempt.
‘Your mum?’ Max gently prompted.
Dilly nodded. ‘You need to look after yourself.’
‘And you, too. Maybe we could look after each other for the better while I’m around for the next six months.’
‘I’d like that,’ replied Dilly, meaning every word. She couldn’t look away as she passed him the dish of greens. ‘Now, about the pie. There’s something I need to tell you.’
‘Sounds intriguing.’
‘Like I said, I went to the fishmongers and asked Bill for his freshest haddock…’
Max scooped the pie onto his plate.
‘He gave me the freshest haddock you could have possibly wished for. He literally disappeared out the back and… I have a confession to make.’ Dilly took a sip of her wine. ‘He gave me whole fish, with their heads still on, which I didn’t know until I unwrapped them about an hour ago… They were looking at me, and I couldn’t bear to chop their heads off or cut off their gills, so,’ she screwed up her face, ‘they’re still in the fridge. So, now we have cheesy mash in a creamy sauce with baked beans and greens. I’m not sure I’m going to appear on MasterChef anytime soon, or win a Michelin star… Sorry! It’s not one of my finest moments.’
Max laughed. ‘That is too funny. We just have pie but I bet it’s the best pie.’
They began to tuck in, and despite the lack of fish, it was surprisingly tasty. Soon their plates were empty, and Max topped up their wine. ‘I really did enjoy that.’
‘You don’t have to say that.’
‘Maybe I do, if I want to come again.’
‘And do you want to come again?’
‘I’m enjoying myself so far.’ Again, he gave her a smile that made her heart skip a beat, the same feeling she’d had all those years ago. ‘And potato pie is much better than a ready meal for one. I think I still have one left in the bottom drawer of the freezer.’
‘No one ever goes in the bottom drawer of the freezer.’
‘Which means you’ll have to invite me more often, otherwise I’ll have no choice but to dive into my freezer’s depths.’
Dilly laughed softly. ‘I think I can manage that. After all, we have a lighthouse to buy.’ She paused, still feeling curious about what had transpired in Max’s life since her college days and how he’d ended up working for her father. Taking a breath, she asked the burning question.
‘What have you been doing since I left college? I was surprised to see you working for my father. As much as I love him and the boat house, you were a brilliant teacher. It’s such a shame you’ve walked away from it.’ As soon as she asked, Dilly noticed a flicker of emotion pass over Max’s face.
‘Divorce happened, and I lost my zest for life,’ Max began quietly. ‘If I was going to survive, I had to walk away from everything I knew, and the only way I could move forward was to make a completely fresh start. During that time, I lost my love for painting and teaching. I prefer my own company these days, and I’m still figuring out what my next steps are.’
‘I’m really sorry to hear that,’ Dilly replied. She understood that people needed to turn in on themselves during difficult times. She had been lucky that when Giles knocked the stuffing out of her, painting had provided her with an escape.
‘Puffin Island has a certain magic about it. It’s a special place with wonderful people and I think it’s going to do me the world of good, being here.’
‘It’s the best place with the best people.’
‘I got that impression right from the start. Your dad was very kind and showed me empathy. I really appreciate everything he’s done for me in such a short space of time, with the flat and the job. I didn’t think I’d get the job because I was somewhat over-qualified and why would a man who was a teacher and an artist want to be painting boats? But it’s exactly what I need at the moment. It’s given me purpose.’ His voice cracked.
‘It sounds like you’ve had a difficult time.’
‘Waking up to the view of the sea and the sound of the waves rolling in definitely makes mornings easier. Now, let’s talk about this lighthouse.’
‘I’m incredibly excited about it and can’t wait for the open day. Firstly, it will give us an opportunity to scope out the competition, as I’m sure they’ll be checking it out too. Secondly, we can assess how much work might be needed. Come and have a look at this.’ Dilly picked up both wine glasses and settled on the rug opposite the coffee table, gesturing for Max to join her. As he sat across from her on the settee, Dilly reached under the table and retrieved a large round tube. She took out, and carefully unrolled, a detailed plan, which she laid out on the table. To keep it from rolling back up, she used a book and her laptop to weigh down the edges. The plan illustrated the interior layout of the lighthouse, offering a glimpse of its potential.
‘Wow! This looks amazing,’ said Max with admiration. ‘You’ve been working hard.’
‘This is the layout of the lighthouse interior according to the auctioneer’s website. It shows the dimensions of every room, and I’ve already mapped out what I’d like to do with them once I win the bid, which I fully intend to do.’
‘I can see that.’
Dilly picked up a pencil and pointed to the plan. ‘The ground floor, currently a living room, will transform into the gallery space. I have so many ideas swirling around in my head, especially about the lighting and layout. What do you think?’
‘I think you could easily double as an interior designer with this level of detail,’ Max observed.
‘I started painting this morning, but my mind kept drifting back to the lighthouse. I couldn’t focus, so I began sketching this.’ She gestured towards the window. ‘Each level has these expansive windows, perfect for natural light, but I’ll definitely need additional lighting for the gallery. The centrepiece will be the painting I’m currently working on, with a one-way viewing system that visitors will circle around,’ she explained with a grin. ‘It seems fitting for a lighthouse. The first and second floors are bedrooms, the third floor a bathroom, another bedroom on the fourth. Fifth and sixth are a dining room and kitchen. There’s lots of space so there might even be a chance to expand the gallery onto the first floor.’
Max gently touched her arm. ‘You really have your heart set on this, don’t you?’
Dilly felt a sudden rush of warmth from his touch and wondered if he sensed the same. He gazed directly at her. ‘I do,’ she replied softly. ‘But it all boils down to money and whether someone else has more to offer.’
‘That’s something we won’t know until the day,’ he said calmly.
‘I’m planning a new collection for the new gallery,’ Dilly continued, feeling emboldened. ‘I want to draw everyone and everything in the past, present, and future of Puffin Island. I imagine a vibrant community atmosphere, here in this gallery, with possibly light refreshments and a feel-good ambiance.’
‘How are you going to make money from a community gallery?’
‘I’d take commissions from any sales and charge artists a small fee to display their work in the gallery. Exhibition fees are another possibility, as well as offering workshops and art classes. I could also host special events and private viewings for new collections. Additionally, I could sell art supplies, prints and merchandise, like postcards, posters and limited-edition prints of all the artwork, including my own. Plus, I can apply for art grants to help fund community programmes and offset the gallery’s operating costs.’
‘You’ve got it all figured out,’ said Max. ‘You’re not just an artist but also a savvy businesswoman and soon-to-be lighthouse owner.’ His gaze intensified, and Dilly found herself momentarily captivated by his dark lashes and perfect lips. They had spent three years together in art class, but Max had always been out of bounds. Now he wasn’t anymore.
Dilly sensed an unspoken connection with him and wondered what it would be like to break down that barrier. He was effortlessly charming and undeniably attractive. ‘Did you ever imagine our paths would cross again?’ she asked, genuinely curious, moving next to him on the settee.
‘I never doubted it,’ Max replied, taking a sip of wine. ‘I always knew I’d walk into one of your galleries and congratulate you on your success. I remember seeing you on the TV and in the Sunday newspaper, and I couldn’t believe it. One day, I’ll have one of your paintings hanging in my home. I just need to find a permanent place to settle.’
‘You’ll find it,’ Dilly reassured him. ‘I’ve heard divorce isn’t easy. It must be tough.’
‘It’s been challenging,’ Max admitted, his smile fading. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever put myself in that position again.’
‘I understand,’ Dilly replied softly, thinking of her own past with Giles. She could never comprehend how someone could fake love and deceive another for financial gain.
‘Shall we have a look over your figures and try and work out your maximum bid?’
The information Dilly was about to share with Max felt deeply personal, and for the past twenty-four hours she had deliberated over whether to share it. A similar scenario had unfolded with Giles, who had spun a tale about finding their dream home and convinced her to disclose details about her inheritance, all under the pretence of planning their future together. Thank God she had discovered his deceit when she did. With Max, however, the situation felt different. She trusted him. He wasn’t driven by financial gain. He was here to support her, like he’d done in the past.
‘I’ve compiled a spreadsheet,’ Dilly began as they moved to the small round table in the corner of the room. ‘This is the amount I can access. Do you think it’s enough?’
Max took a moment to absorb the numbers spread out before him. ‘You can’t empty out every penny,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘And you need to account for other expenses such as bills, upkeep, and the costs of converting the lighthouse into your home and the gallery. It won’t come cheap. Plus, if you’re keeping this place, your expenses will double unless you consider a grant. Depending on the lighthouse’s heating system, upgrading or replacing it could be a significant cost.’
‘That’s where this spreadsheet comes in,’ Dilly continued, pointing to different sections. ‘I’ve projected potential earnings from the two galleries by calculating the space in the new gallery and estimated the number of paintings I could display, along with their potential sale prices. As you know, as well as the original artwork there’s a limited edition of framed prints. I already have stock, which totals this amount.’ She pointed. ‘The prints fly off the website and the original paintings sell for at least seven thousand pounds each, so I believe I can achieve this total.’ She indicated the final figure in the box.
Max let out a low whistle. ‘By this time next year, you’ll be well on your way to being a millionaire.’
‘I do believe that’s entirely possible,’ Dilly affirmed.
‘Based on these projections, you can manage both properties with your art sales, and any extra from your art classes and community gallery will be a bonus,’ Max observed. ‘But the big question is, how much of your inheritance do you want to set aside for emergencies? You have to plan for the worst-case scenario.’
‘I think I need more wine for this,’ Dilly said with a chuckle, refilling their glasses.
‘If it were up to me,’ Max said, picking up a pen from the nearby pad and jotting down a figure, ‘I would keep at least half of your inheritance. You’re young, with your whole life ahead of you. You never know what you might need in the future. So, I’d recommend bidding up to this amount…’
‘But I think other bidders will have more than that.’
‘It’s up to you whether you want to risk more.’
Suddenly, Dilly came over all emotional. ‘I hear what you’re saying.’
‘Hey, what’s up? I didn’t mean to upset you.’
Dilly looked at Max and exhaled. ‘You didn’t. I just feel passionate about it and I wish I had some intimation of what others might be bidding.’
‘The last thing you want to do is to get yourself into any sort of financial difficulty. This is a huge commitment.’
‘I’ve always been impulsive; the second I set my mind on something I have to have it. But it really does need a little more thought. I think I’ve become swept up in some sort of romantic notion of an artist living in a lighthouse where her grandfather once kept watch and where her mother was born. And yet something is telling me I need to do this.’
‘If something is telling you to go for it, then just go for it. All you can do is see what happens.’
A tear ran down Dilly’s face. ‘I don’t even know why I’m crying, it’s ridiculous.’
Max tucked a stray hair behind her ear before passing her a tissue.
She smiled a sad smile at him. ‘Every day I wish my mum was here. She would be over the moon to see how well I was doing.’ She tapped the spreadsheet. ‘I’d rather have her here, instead of the inheritance.’
‘That goes without saying.’
‘They never did find her or Anton’s body,’ Dilly said, dabbing at her eyes. ‘And there’s still a tiny part of me that thinks she’ll stroll through the doors of the gallery, that this has all been a bad dream. But if she were alive, she would never stay away.’ Her voice trembled with sadness as she glanced towards the lighthouse. ‘I wish we could have brought her home.’
Max placed his hand over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and they sat in silence, watching the waves crash against the rocks surrounding the lighthouse.
‘I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through and what you’re still going through,’ Max said softly.
‘It’s hard to talk to my dad about it because they’d both moved on with their lives. My dad has never had anyone else since Mum. He says he was attached to her for so long, and now he just does what he wants, when he wants.’
‘I can relate to him there.’
‘I’m sorry your marriage didn’t work out,’ Dilly said, her voice filled with genuine sympathy.
‘Thank you.’
‘Even though I know a lot of the girls in your past art classes would be glad to hear that. They all thought you were hot and used to hang around outside your classroom and whisper about you.’ As soon as the words left her mouth, Dilly felt a blush creep up her cheeks.
‘They did, did they?’ Max replied with a lopsided grin.
‘Surely you must have known.’ She nudged him playfully.
‘I have to say, I honestly never noticed groups of girls hanging outside my classroom door or whispering as I walked past. And dare I ask, what about you?’
‘I admired your intelligence, your enthusiasm for art, and the encouragement you gave me to make my dreams a reality.’ Dilly purposely left out the vivid dreams she’d had about him over the years. On numerous occasions, she’d woken with a start, the dreams so real, and she’d often wondered what it would be like to wake up with him every day.
‘And likewise, your passion for art was inspiring, and I admired how you stood out from the crowd,’ Max replied warmly. Dilly sat up a bit straighter, intrigued.
‘How so?’ she asked.
‘You never followed trends. You were true to yourself. While others chased the latest fashions, you had your own unique style. Your painted dungarees, your Converse boots, and that signature messy bun secured with paintbrushes and pencils. And your genuine enthusiasm for art shone through, not to mention your infectious laugh.’
‘Let’s talk about my laugh,’ she teased, a playful glint in her eye.
Max smiled. ‘When you laughed, it was pure joy, and your smile lit up the room. So many of the other students wanted to be like you.’
‘No, they didn’t,’ Dilly protested, though she was secretly pleased.
‘Oh, they did. They’d see what art books you had sticking out of your bag and then check them out at the library, but they never dived into them like you did. When you got a new set of paintbrushes, they all bought the same ones. And all the girls tried to secure their hair with paintbrushes, but it was never quite the same.’
‘It seems you noticed quite a lot about me,’ she observed, her eyes sparkling.
‘I did.’
They exchanged a smile, the unique bond they’d shared strengthening between them, but with a different, more charged energy this time around.
‘And now, years later, you’re going to help me buy a lighthouse.’
The intensity of his gaze gave her the same warm feeling she had years ago when they spent time together painting and discussing art.
‘Just look at all this,’ he continued, gesturing to the drawings and spreadsheets spread out before them.
Her stomach fluttered with butterflies, and her thoughts drifted back to her college days. She had dreamed of kissing him, of being wrapped in his arms, but it had always been a fantasy. Sitting here now, believing in fate, she felt their paths had crossed again for a reason. She was thrilled to be with Max in this moment.
‘What are you thinking? You’ve gone all thoughtful,’ Max asked.
‘I’m thinking I’m glad you’re here, and maybe we should open another bottle of wine,’ she replied with a smile.
‘Maybe we should,’ he said, sipping the last of the wine from his glass. His eyes stayed locked on hers.
And there it was again, for the umpteenth time tonight, the race of her pulse, the thumping of her heart. She had sworn to herself after Giles that no man would take up any more of her time, yet here she was, not wanting Max to go back to his flat anytime soon. There was something about him that made her feel alive, that made her want to take a chance again.