Chapter 2
Chapter Two
‘Are you serious?’ asked Caleb.
‘Of course, I am.’ I sat back down, enthused, if a little shaky. ‘I’ll come up with some new ideas, give the cottages a makeover…’
My hackles were raised when Dad gave me an indulgent smile. He was fighting to choose his words carefully. ‘Sweetheart, I admire your passion, I really do, but you’ve never run a business before.’
‘Well, neither had you until you bought the cottages.’
Mum and Dad studied one another, each mentally appealing to the other for backup.
‘I wouldn’t be doing it all on my own, anyway,’ I argued. ‘Caleb and Katie can help me.’
My brother stiffened beside me. ‘Whoa! Hold on a minute…’
I swung around, pinning him to the sofa with my best Darth Vader stare. ‘This business is part of your legacy, too.’
‘Yeah, but I’m a cartoonist, not an interior designer.’
I shrugged. ‘I know you’ve never shown any interest in the cottages, but maybe it’s about time you did.’
Caleb’s dark-red brows fenced with one another, but I ignored him. It was Mum and Dad I had to convince. ‘You two go off and have a marvellous time. Leave me in charge of the cottages for the next twelve months.’
My parents glanced at one another again, unreadable expressions shooting between them.
‘Like I said, if it doesn’t work out and I can’t make it profitable within the year, you can put the business on the market.’
Dad steepled his hands together on his lap. ‘Something like this is a huge undertaking. It’s going to demand a hell of a commitment.’ He breathed heavily. ‘I don’t doubt your determination, Poppy, but you don’t realise what a huge task this will be.’
I shook my head. ‘I’m not na?ve, Dad. I know it’s going to be tough.’ Then I eyed them both. ‘After what happened with Nick, I just want to try to get on with things.’ I swallowed, banishing pictures of my ex-husband. ‘I’d relish the challenge. I really would.’
‘But the cost of revamping the cottages,’ persisted Dad. ‘That won’t be cheap.’
My hands flapped with enthusiasm. ‘I’ve got an art degree.
Okay, I know I’m not an interior designer either, but I’m good with colours and I know what works.
’ I shifted forward on the sofa. ‘There are so many businesses out there now that supply colourful, fashionable furnishings at competitive prices. And I’m not talking hideously expensive furniture; I’m talking modern, funky, cosy. ’
I glanced at Caleb next to me. He was frowning.
‘I can rebrand them, jazz up the website, put us on social media, get a brochure printed, ensure we use the local press to our advantage.’ Ideas frothed in my head.
‘We could have competitions, seasonal themes, decorate the cottages for Christmas like we used to bring back the Easter Egg hunts…’
Mum lifted her eyebrows at Dad, who shook his head. ‘I appreciate the offer, Poppy, but I think, all things considered, it would be better just to put the business up for sale now, before we leave—’
‘It’s a deal,’ barked Mum, leaping out of her chair and launching herself at me.
Dad looked like he’d received a high-voltage electric shock. ‘Eve? Eve, what are you doing?’
‘Poppy deserves a chance at least,’ persisted Mum, brushing away a stray hair from my face. ‘She’s been through enough lately.’
Dad’s jaw was on the floor. ‘But I thought we’d agreed!’
My mother swung around. ‘Well, I’ve changed my mind, Ollie. Give Poppy the year and then we can still sell up if she discovers she wasn’t able to turn things around.’
Relief, mixed with growing trepidation about what I was taking on, surged through me. ‘Thank you!’ I leaped up from the sofa and threw my arms around my mum, savouring her dash of English Oak Jo Malone perfume.
‘And Poppy’s right,’ carried on Mum. ‘It’s not like she’s going to be left on her own to deal with everything.’ Her wide grin at Caleb was unnerving.
Caleb was unimpressed. His shoulders sagged beneath his jumper. ‘Oh shit.’ He drew himself up at the sight of Mum’s disapproving glare at his swearing. ‘Sorry.’
‘And as Poppy said,’ explained Mum, ‘Katie already cleans the cottages, so you’ll have her on hand to help, too.’
‘Ooh. Help with what?’
Katie was standing in the doorway, her light-brown curls springing around her freckled face. She was wearing a pair of putty-coloured dungarees with a polka-dot T-shirt, which matched the red-dotted scarf wrapped around her head.
Caleb strode towards his wife and softly kissed her lips. ‘Let’s just say I think the two of us are going to be rather busy for the foreseeable.’
‘I’ll go speak to Mr Hanson now,’ I insisted, as Caleb proceeded to tell his stunned wife of my plans and Dad looked on, bewildered.
The thought of leaving London wasn’t an attractive prospect, but there was no other option.
It had to be done. I wouldn’t lose the cottages after everything else.
Throwing myself into arrangements, so I wouldn’t have too much time to dwell on what I was doing, I telephoned my landlord first, to relinquish my flat, promising to confirm all the details by email. Then I made the call I truly was dreading.
I imagined Mr Hanson’s hooded eyes popping behind his amber-tinted John Lennon spectacles as I told him my news. He sounded confused. ‘You’re leaving? But why, Poppy? I don’t understand.’
I clutched my mobile to my ear and thought of Artisan, with its red velvet seating, the creamy-white walls and glowing spotlights that picked out not only the sweeps, lines and dashes of artists’ creativity, but also the solid, gilded frames that the paintings rested in.
I blinked back guilt that was festering behind my eyes and explained to Mr Hanson about my parents’ desire to sell our ailing holiday cottages.
‘So,’ I sighed, ‘that’s why I’ve decided to return to Port Starr. I’m so sorry, Mr Hanson. You’ve been so good to me, especially when my marriage broke up.’
‘No need to apologise, Poppy. It’s just regrettable that I’m losing one of the best and most knowledgeable receptionists I’ve ever had.’
I heard the black pointed shoes he always wore tapping back up the polished floor towards his office. ‘I’ll make sure you’re paid to the end of the month and there’ll be something extra in there, too, as a way of thanks for all your hard work.’
I bit my lip. ‘Thank you.’
‘And don’t worry about your belongings and your sketches and artwork,’ he assured me. ‘I’ll arrange for it all to be transferred back up to you in Scotland, through our delivery service here at the gallery.’
‘But, Mr Hanson, that will cost a fortune!’
‘I won’t hear another word, Poppy,’ he insisted down the line. ‘You just get yourself settled. Then you can message me with your new address, and we’ll get your things back to you safely. Good luck with everything.’
‘Thank you so much.’ A grateful lump lodged in my throat. ‘That will be such a great help.’
I hung up and chewed my lip. I was glad I’d brought my Scarlet Highwayman portrait with me.
Everything else could be brought up to Scotland by the art gallery delivery service, thanks to Mr Hanson’s generosity.
It was all happening so quickly, but perhaps that was a blessing.
It wouldn’t give me time to question the enormous task I was undertaking.