One Summer in Cornwall

by Karen King

  Marcus knocked on Hattie’s door, wondering what she had decided to wear. Not that he minded – she looked amazing in anything. She opened the door and his eyes widened as he saw that she had taken him at his word and was wearing her motorbike leathers. She looked sensational, the trousers clung to her like a second skin and the top was sexily unzipped to reveal her cleavage.

  ‘Will I do?’ she asked.

  He grinned. ‘You definitely will.’

  She grinned as she looked him up and down. ‘You’ve spruced up well too.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He’d changed his mind about the cream chinos, deciding on a pair of black skinny jeans and a white collarless shirt, matched with black loafers. ‘Right, let’s do this.’

  ‘Can we go on my bike seeing as I’m dressed for the part?’ she asked. ‘I’ve got a spare helmet. Or don’t you like motorbikes?’

  ‘Yes, I do, I had one myself for years.’ But he’d always been the driver and didn’t know if he fancied riding pillion, not being in control. There again, he did fancy wrapping his arms around Hattie’s waist and cosying up to her. And it would be fun to pull up in front of the manor on Hattie’s bike. That would make quite an entrance and he could just imagine Estelle’s face. ‘Sure, let’s take the bike,’ he said.

  ‘You okay going pillion?’

  ‘No problem.’

  Everyone turned to look as they roared up the drive. Hattie gave her bike a final rev before coming to a halt. She’d enjoyed the ride here, with Marcus sitting on the back, his hands holding her waist. Adam had always refused to go on the back of the bike, she wasn’t sure if it was because he hadn’t felt safe or because he didn’t like the idea of sitting behind a woman – not that he would have ever ridden a bike himself, he was definitely a car man, the sportier the better. Whereas Marcus hadn’t seemed at all bothered about sitting behind and holding on to her. He was self-assured, confident of his own masculinity, and not so much of an opinionated chauvinist as he had first seemed.

  They both dismounted just as a woman in a glamorous floral dress with a wide-brimmed hat almost floated over the lawn towards them. She looked about sixty, was very elegant and her clothes were definitely not off the peg.

  ‘Marcus. We’ve been waiting for you.’ Her eyes rested warmly on Marcus, then moved to Hattie, and her face broke into a welcoming smile. ‘And who is this stunning woman?’

  ‘Lady Thomwell, this is Hattie, my girlfriend.’

  Hattie smiled as Marcus introduced her. ‘Pleased to meet you, Lady Thomwell,’ she said. ‘Lovely place you have here,’ she added, looking around admiringly.

  Thomwell Manor looked like one of the stately homes she had sometimes visited with her mum on a Sunday. A very green, very well-looked-after lawn was at the front of the house, with a half-moon of steps leading up to the manor itself, and white lion sculptures each side of the door. There were a hundred or more people on the lawn, all dressed in their finery. There was a long table on one side of the garden, laden with sandwiches, cakes and drinks, and a few members of staff were standing behind it. More staff were walking around carrying silver trays with what looked like glasses of champagne on them, and handing them out to the guests. Very impressive. She wished she’d brought her camera with her; she could have got some great shots. She was tempted to use the camera on her mobile phone, but decided it was best not to.

  ‘Rupert is due back very soon.’ Lady Thomwell turned to Hattie and said conspiratorially, ‘This whole thing is a surprise for his birthday. We’re going to unveil the picture when he arrives. I must say that Marcus has done a wonderful job.’ Hattie looked at the easel covered with a cloth in the middle of the lawn and guessed that was the painting. She couldn’t wait to see it.

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Marcus said, leaning forward to kiss Lady Thomwell, first one cheek and then the other.

  ‘Do come and join us. Everyone is dying to meet you,’ Lady Thomwell said.

  Marcus smiled at Hattie and they both followed Lady Thomwell over the lawn.

  ‘Marcus, there you are.’ The blond-haired woman Hattie had seen driving the sports car the other night held up her hand and waved. She was wearing a white off-the-shoulder designer dress, that buttoned down the front and stopped just above the knees, to reveal long, slender legs. The white accentuated her golden tan, and the gold necklace, earrings and bracelet she was wearing sparkled in the sun.

  ‘Estelle.’ Marcus smiled at her, then reached out for Hattie’s hand. ‘Meet my girlfriend, Hattie.’

  Estelle looked Hattie up and down languidly, her sharp eyes taking in the bike leathers, Hattie had now unzipped the jacket to reveal a black lacy vest. She gave Estelle a little finger wave. ‘Hi there, Marcus has told me all about you,’ she said sweetly.

  ‘Not everything I hope, you rogue,’ Estelle replied, pouting seductively at Marcus. ‘Good to meet you, Hattie, you’re not at all as I imagined.’

  She made it sound like an insult but Hattie merely arched her eyebrows. ‘Really? Now you’re exactly how I thought you’d be.’

  Estelle fixed her with a stony stare then slipped her hand through Marcus’s arm. ‘Now come along, Marcus, there are so many people waiting to meet you. Let me introduce you to everyone.’ She led him off, leaving Hattie standing by herself on the lawn with the choice of whether to traipse behind them or find someone else to talk to. Well, she could see why Marcus felt uncomfortable with Estelle, but he was big enough to stick up for himself. She wasn’t running after them, she decided. If Marcus wanted her to pretend to be his girlfriend, he needed to start acting like her boyfriend.

  ‘Hello, dear. Are you a friend of Estelle’s?’ an elderly man asked her.

  She turned to him with a smile. ‘No, a friend of Marcus, the artist.’ Her gaze scanned the gardens admiringly. ‘This is a beautiful place isn’t it?’

  ‘It is indeed. It’s been in the Thomwell family for centuries. It was actually quite dilapidated when Rupert took over but he and Felicity have put a lot of money and hard work into it, and over the years have transformed the place.’

  ‘Are you family?’ Hattie asked him.

  ‘Lifelong friends – ah, here’s my son,’ the man said as a tall, good-looking fair-haired man joined them. ‘Jake, this is . . .’ He paused as if realising that he didn’t know Hattie’s name.

  ‘Hattie.’ She held out her hand.

  Jake smoothly lifted it to his lips and kissed it.

  ‘Ah, the delightful photographer at Reece and Ellie’s wedding yesterday. I attended the ceremony but had to leave early, I’m afraid. Business to see to.’

  Fancies himself as a charmer, she thought.

  ‘You’re a photographer? And Marcus is a painter. How interesting. Do you both find the same subjects appealing, I wonder?’ his father asked.

  She had no idea what subjects Marcus found appealing. She’d only seen the painting of the ship in the storm.

  ‘Sometimes, although I prefer to paint nature and Hattie loves photographing people, don’t you?’ She turned to see Marcus standing behind her. ‘Sorry to interrupt but there’s some people I want you to meet, Hattie,’ he said.

  So he’d managed to escape Estelle’s clutches, then.

  ‘I thought you were following us, but when I looked around, you’d gone,’ he whispered.

  ‘I don’t follow,’ Hattie told him with a smile.

  For a moment their gaze locked, his hazel-with-a-hint-of-green eyes staring into hers, making her heart flutter. The chemistry between them was almost tangible; it was all she could do to stop herself from reaching out and touching his face.

  ‘Then walk with me,’ he said and held out his hand.

  She took it, and they walked over the grass, hand in hand, just as a black limousine pulled up outside the manor.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘It’s Lord Thomwell. Now the ceremony can take place, and then after that we can make our excuses and go home,’ Marcus said. ‘If you want to, that is.’

&
nbsp; ‘I’d prefer not to stay too long. This is not my kind of party, although it’s a beautiful place,’ Hattie told him.

  ‘Marcus!’ Lady Felicity was waving to him. Lord Rupert had joined her and there was now a crowd gathered in front of the covered easel. Hattie quickened her pace; she was eager to see Marcus’s painting.

  She took her phone out of her shoulder bag, preparing to take a photo as Lady Thomwell stood in front of the easel, ready to make a speech.

  ‘I’m delighted to invite you all here today to celebrate my dear Rupert’s sixty-fifth birthday,’ she said. ‘And to mark the occasion, I commissioned our local artist Marcus Wilson, to do a special painting. If you could come up and join me, Marcus.’ She looked over at Marcus. Everyone else turned to face him too.

  He shot Hattie a rueful smile and walked through the crowd – which had now burst out into applause – to the front.

  Lady Thomwell then grandly swept the covering from the easel and Hattie gasped as the painting was revealed. Marcus had managed to recreate the style of an Old Master. The painting showed the Manor against a backdrop of a summer-blue sky, with Lady Thomwell and Estelle, dressed in crinoline dresses, with parasols, sitting elegantly on a blanket spread out on the grass, having a picnic. It was stunning. Marcus really was talented, she thought admiringly.

  There was a round of applause, Lord Rupert gave a speech about how delighted he was, he and his wife exchanged kisses on the cheek, the waiters circulated with more silver trays of champagne and then everyone relaxed into a party atmosphere.

  ‘So, how long have you and Marcus been together,’ Estelle asked, sidling up to Hattie.

  Hattie turned to her and smiled brightly. ‘Oh, it’s fairly recent.’

  ‘I thought so, as he hasn’t mentioned you all time he was here painting, and we got very close – as you can imagine.’

  Estelle really did have a thing for Marcus, Hattie realised. She wondered if Marcus had been tempted to succumb to her charms, whether he would have taken up with her if she hadn’t been the daughter of one of his clients. There was no doubt that Estelle was beautiful, elegant and self-possessed. Obviously wealthy, too. Although, she must be at least ten years older than Marcus.

  ‘I’m not surprised, Marcus likes to keep his private life, private,’ Hattie replied. ‘He mentioned you, of course, and how he helped you out by going to a do with you.’

  Estelle looked surprised but before she could reply Marcus joined them and interrupted.

  ‘Excuse us, won’t you, Estelle. Hattie and I have somewhere else to be.’

  ‘You can’t go yet, the party has only just started,’ Estelle protested with a pout.

  ‘Sorry, but I did say we couldn’t stay long.’ He slipped his arm around Hattie’s waist. ‘See you around.’ And they both walked off to where her bike was parked.

  ‘Where else do we have to go?’ Hattie asked him.

  ‘I’m going surfing, want to join me?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got a spare wetsuit that should fit you.’

  She wondered if it had belonged to a former girlfriend but didn’t ask. It wasn’t important. ‘Sure.’ She straddled the bike and waited for him to get on behind her, but instead he pulled out his phone.

  ‘Smile!’

  Surprised, Hattie obligingly smiled. ‘I thought I was the photographer,’ she said when he’d taken the photo.

  ‘I couldn’t resist. You look great on that bike, with the Manor as a backdrop. I’ll send it to you later.’

  They went home to get changed into their wetsuits then headed for the beach. It was still warm, the sun was sparkling and glistening on the sea, white waves already building up and crashing onto the golden sand. Most of the families and holidaymakers had gone home for their evening meal so they easily found a secluded corner where they could surf in relative peace. Well, where Marcus could surf and Hattie could bodyboard – she’d learnt how to do that during her Cornwall holidays when she was a child. She’d love to be able to ride the waves like Marcus did though, she thought, as sitting down on the sand to catch her breath, she watched him in action. He really was good, good enough to do it professionally if he wanted to. Perhaps he did.

  There was a lot she didn’t know about Marcus, she realised. She hadn’t known how good a painter he was until that afternoon, or realised his work was held in such high esteem. There were a lot of people at the party wanting to meet him, some of them wanting paintings done too.

  She knew nothing about his background though, his family, his relationships. He obviously didn’t have a current girlfriend but she had the feeling there hadn’t been a shortage of them. He was good looking and, he definitely had an eye for the ladies, although he was in control of those emotions, judging by his refusal to bed Estelle, and how gentlemanly he had been with her the other night. Would she have had sex with him if he’d made a move? She rested her chin on her bent knees and considered it. There was no doubt that she found him attractive, so, yes, she thought, she might have gone for it if he’d made a move on Saturday but she was glad he hadn’t. If she did decide to have sex with him, she’d definitely want to remember it the next day. Besides, she had the feeling that if she got involved with Marcus she would find him difficult to walk away from.

  He was striding out of the sea towards her now, his wet hair dangling just above his shoulders. The tight wetsuit fitted him like a glove, stretching across his broad chest and muscular hips. As he got closer, she switched her gaze to a red-and-yellow hot air balloon floating in the sky, not wanting him to know she’d been looking at him. There was a banner advertising a local theme park on it.

  ‘Have you ever been there?’ he asked, looking up at the hot air balloon too.

  ‘Yes, we always visited it when we were down on holiday, although I expect they have much scarier rides now. I used to go on the water ride with my parents; we’ve got a few photos of us all screaming as we got drenched with water.’

  ‘Happy times.’ He reached for his holdall, pulled out his towel and rubbed his hair dry.

  ‘I thought so. Turns out Mum and Dad weren’t so happy after all. At least Dad wasn’t.’ She hadn’t meant to sound so bitter. It was all a long time ago, and thankfully both her parents were happy now.

  ‘Still hurts, eh?’

  She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. ‘No, but I was mad at Dad for a long time. I felt like he’d abandoned us for a new life. We barely spoke for years. Until now, actually. I sometimes think that Uncle Albert left the cottage to both of us so that we’d have to talk to each other. He could have left it just to Dad.’

  ‘And has it worked?’ Marcus picked up his energy drink and took a long swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  ‘I guess so, although our conversations are very short and always about the cottage. That’s down to me, though,’ she admitted.

  ‘Still find it hard to forgive him?’

  ‘I forgive him. I’m an adult now, I can see how relationships can fall apart, but I’m his child, his only daughter. He should have made an effort, even if I was a bolshie teenager.’

  ‘You, bolshie?’ His grin was teasing.

  She grinned back. ‘Anyway, enough about me. What about you? Have you always lived in Cornwall? Do your parents live here?’

  ‘My dad died when I was a teenager. My mum and sister, Beth, live in Wales,’ he told her. ‘They’ve got a lot of land, they’re into horses.’

  ‘I’m sorry about your dad. Do you ever visit your mum and sister?’ she asked.

  ‘I take a drive up there about once a year. It’s a bit of a trek and horses aren’t my thing. We keep in touch through WhatsApp, though.’

  ‘So the cottage isn’t your family home?’

  ‘It was my grandparents’. My mum grew up here. After my dad died, she remarried and went to live in Wales. I couldn’t settle though, I felt more at home in Cornwall so I came back down to live with my grandparents. When they died, they left the cottage to my mum, sister and me. I bought them ou
t. I’ve lived here since I was sixteen – eighteen years - and it suits me.’

  ‘So you were left your cottage too . . .’

  He looked at her, knowing where the conversation was going. ‘Yes, and I’m grateful, but it was already my home. I looked after my grandparents until they died, and bought my family out.’

  ‘Whereas I neglected Uncle Albert and don’t deserve Fisherman’s Rest?’

  He placed his hand over hers, hazel eyes sincere. ‘I was being too judgey, I understand your circumstances better now.’

  ‘But you still don’t want me to sell?’

  He rubbed her hand gently, his touch sparking desire within her. ‘I understand why you have to. Although, I’d prefer you not to sell the cottage to someone who will be using it as a holiday let.’

  She bit her lip, her gaze drifting over to the sea. She’d prefer not to do that either. Actually, she was beginning to wish that she didn’t have to sell Fisherman’s Rest at all.

  ‘Look, this is obviously a touchy subject, so why don’t we declare it out of bounds? Come back to mine and I’ll cook us a meal, open a bottle of wine and we can have a chilled-out evening.’

  That sounded good. Really good. ‘I’d love to,’ she replied.

  ‘Let’s head off then, shall we?’ He threw his towel and empty bottle in his holdall and stood up, then extended his arm to her.

  She took his hand – his grip was strong but his skin was soft – and got to her feet, her own bag in her hand, and they set off up the hill, still hand in hand, an easy comfortableness between them. I really am looking forward to this evening, she thought. It would give them chance to talk in a relaxed setting. To get to know each other a little better.

  As they reached the row of cottages, she saw a tall man with close-shaven brown hair and a small moustache sitting on the front garden wall of Fisherman’s Rest. What a cheek, why doesn’t he find a bench? She thought, annoyed. Then the man waved. She blinked and focused. There was something about him that seemed a bit familiar.