One Summer in Cornwall

by Karen King

She wandered amongst the plants, considering what to buy thoughtfully then putting several pots into the trolley as she pushed it along.

  She really was taking doing up the cottage seriously, you’d think she was doing it for herself to live in, not for strangers, Marcus thought. She was struggling a bit with the trolley, though, it seemed quite unwieldly.

  ‘How about I push the trolley and then you can be free to wander around looking at the plants,’ he offered, wanting to help but not wanting it to sound like he was taking over because she couldn’t manage.

  ‘Thanks.’ She passed it to him and dashed off to look at some garden statues. Surely she wasn’t going to buy one of those? thought Marcus, looking at the display.

  She studied them all for a while and then came back with a small mermaid statue. ‘This can go in the front garden,’ she said as she carefully placed it in the trolley.

  The trolley was now brimming with a variety of plants and pots. ‘Do you think you might have enough now?’ he asked. ‘I know you want the cottage to give a good first impression but if the new owners are buying it for a holiday rental they probably won’t want a lot of plants to look after.’

  ‘If they don’t want them, I’ll take them with me,’ she said. ‘I’ve decided that I want a house next time, not a flat. It’s lovely to have a garden and a bit more space.’

  ‘Have you always lived in a flat?’ he asked.

  ‘Since my parents split up, yes. There was only me and Mum, and she was working, so a flat was easier, and cheaper. Then when I moved out I went for a flat too.’ She looked around. ‘All I need now is a tin of white paint for the bench. I should be able to get that here, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘I should think so, but it will probably be in another section.’

  They found the paint and paid up, loaded it all in the van then went back inside for a coffee at the little café.

  ‘You know, since Nick and I have done up the cottage, I’ve really seen the possibilities for it,’ Hattie said as she stirred sugar into her coffee. ‘It could be so pretty. I remember when we used to come down for the summer and Uncle Albert used to do a fry-up every morning, the smell of bacon used to waft up to our attic room and I couldn’t wait to come down for breakfast. And I used to help him water all his pots and baskets. He kept it so lovely. I guess it all got too much as he got older.’

  Marcus saw tears fill her eyes and she quickly lowered her gaze to stare into her coffee cup.

  He’d judged her wrong, he realised. She had cared about her uncle and now staying here in this cottage was bringing back painful memories for her, of happier times when he was alive and when her parents were still together. She hadn’t selfishly forgotten about him; she’d been a child, battling with her parents’ divorce and trying to hold her life together. Albert had never reached out to anyone, had always been stubbornly self-sufficient, how was anyone to know that he was struggling? He hadn’t even wanted his family to know.

  ‘This must be difficult for you . . .’

  She raised her eyes to meet his. ‘It is a bit. I want to do right by Uncle Albert and I feel awful that we’re selling the cottage, but Dad needs the money to save his home and business, and I need to get myself a home too.’ She bit her lip. ‘I don’t know how Uncle Albert would feel about his cottage being a holiday let but there’s nothing I can do about it. Much as I’d like to live here and make it a home again, I can’t. I need to sell.’

  She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. It was something that had been stirring in her for the last few days, as she and Nick had gone through Uncle Albert’s things and tidied up the cottage. It had made her see the cottage through different eyes. When she had first come down to stay, Fisherman’s Rest had been a haven, a refuge until she could sort out the mess her life had become, but over the last couple of weeks it had become a home. She could feel herself putting down roots in Port Medden, growing closer to Marcus, and now she’d been offered more work for Gwel Teg too. It was as if the little Cornish town was opening up its arms and welcoming her, and she longed to snuggle into them and enjoy the safety and comfort, but she knew that she couldn’t.

  ‘Is that how you really feel? That you want to live at Fisherman’s Rest?’ Marcus asked softly.

  Hattie chewed her lip. ‘I’m being silly; it’s all the memories and nostalgia, I think. And it’s such a lovely place.”

  ‘Is there no way you could buy your dad out?’

  She frowned. ‘I don’t see how. My redundancy money, when I get it, won’t even cover a fifth of his share, and I need some money to live on. It’s going to take some time to build up my photography business enough for me to earn a regular wage.’ She was wondering if she should get a part-time job too – she didn’t think she could cope with the insecurity of being self-employed. At least, not while she’s just starting out.

  God, listen to her, she sounded pathetic. He must think she was a right whinger. Uncle Albert had rescued her and her dad; she shouldn’t be resenting having to sell the cottage. She should be grateful he had left it to her, and given her the chance to restart her life.

  ‘Listen to me moaning! Honestly, I’ll soon get the money together to put a deposit down on a lovely little house. I’ll be absolutely fine.’

  She finished the last of her coffee. ‘Shall we go? I can’t wait to get all these plants in place.’

  Marcus stopped to help her, insisting that he had nothing else planned that day, and they spent the afternoon putting the pots in place and painting the bench. There was enough paint to do the table and two chairs in the back garden too.

  ‘It looks fantastic. Thanks so much for your help,’ Hattie said, gazing around at the back yard which was now an abundance of colourful plants in pots. She had moved her motorbike in front of the shed, to make more room for the pots.

  ‘How about we go for a stroll along the harbour now, then grab something to eat?’ Marcus suggested. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’

  She was too. ‘Sounds great but I need a quick shower and change, shall we meet in half an hour?’

  ‘I’ll give you a knock.’

  It was lovely how Marcus and she had become such good friends after such a rocky start, Hattie thought, as he went out of the gate then into his own back yard.

  The trouble was, not only did she not want to sell the cottage, she didn’t want to be friends with Marcus either. She wanted to be lovers.

  Well there was no point in doing that. It would make it even harder to move away.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Jonathan arrived with the photographer dead on time on Monday morning. ‘Well, you’ve done a great job on this in the time you’ve had,’ he said, clearly impressed. ‘I love the splash of colour against the white walls and all those pots in the garden have really brightened the place up. I can’t believe that you’ve done all this in such a short time.’

  ‘My stepbrother came over from France to help me,’ Hattie told him. ‘And Marcus next door helped me with the garden yesterday. Do you really think it’s made a big difference? I still have the wardrobes and cupboards to empty,’ she added.

  ‘There’s time for that, potential buyers won’t expect the cottage to be empty and ready to move into. But yes, this has all definitely added to the price and increased the marketability. I think we could up the price by at least another ten thousand. Let Terry take some photos, then I’ll go back to the office and email you the details through. We could have it for sale on our website for tomorrow.’ I’ve already emailed some of the clients on our list who had stated an interest in property like this and we’ve got three wanting viewings.’

  It’s all happening so fast. Too fast.

  ‘Let me know what days and times are okay for viewings. Or you could give me a spare key and I can let potential buyers around if you aren’t in? Obviously, we won’t walk in unannounced. I’d let you know the days and times beforehand.’

  She’d prefer Jonathan to show people around, she decided. It
would make it more detached and professional. ‘That sounds good. I’m in and out at the moment doing various photography jobs,’ she told him, handing him the spare front-door key. ‘I’ll try to leave the place tidy at all times.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that, people can see beyond a few dirty plates and an unmade bed,’ Jonathan told her. He took a label from his briefcase, wrote Fisherman’s Rest on it and put it on the key fob. ‘Have you thought about what you’re going to do when the cottage is sold? If you want to stay local, I could look out for a place for you if you let me know your budget? We deal in rentals too.’

  Did she want to stay around here? ‘I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet, but thanks. I’ll give it some thought and get back to you. Now, I’m sorry but I’ve got to dash as I’ve got a photography job in just under an hour.’

  Jonathan nodded and held out his hand. ‘Pleasure to do business with you.’

  She shook his hand. ‘Likewise.’

  As soon as Jonathan had gone, she grabbed a sandwich, then set off for Gwel Teg, where she was due to take the first few staff photos. Those of Sue, Mandy, Harry the handyman and Shanise, a couple of the waitresses and the two cleaners. Marcus was working this evening, so she was coming back to photograph him, the bar staff and the rest of the waiting staff.

  It was an enjoyable afternoon. Hattie had suggested that the staff should be photographed as naturally as possible, doing their jobs, and Sue had agreed. So, Mandy – wearing an extra-bright red lipstick – was photographed at her desk, Harry was holding a drill, about to put a shelf up, Shanise was dishing up a meal, etc. There was a sense of fun about it, and the photos were natural but effective. ‘You’ve really got a talent for this, Hattie. You seem to capture the natural character and warmth of people.’

  ‘Thank you. That means a lot,’ Hattie told her. And it did. It made her feel more confident about being able to make some sort of living out of her photography. She’d checked her bank balance this morning and it had frightened her how much her savings had gone down and her credit card balance gone up; she’d used that to pay for the bathroom suite and some of the other things she’d bought for the cottage. ‘My redundancy money will be in soon and then I can pay that off,’ she reminded herself.

  It brought home to her though how much she needed to sell Fisherman’s Rest. There was no point in her being sentimental, she needed the money.

  She was walking down the hill back home when her phone rang. It was Jonathan. ‘We’ve got a viewing for Wednesday and two for Friday,’ he told her. She could hear the enthusiasm in his voice. ‘I can handle them for you if you’re out.’

  That was quick. Jonathan had been sure there would be a lot of interest in the cottage and it seemed he was right. Well, she was going to have to keep the place tidy, that was for sure. And she was going to have to decide where she wanted to live.

  ‘Want me to look out for places to rent for you?’ Mali asked when she called her once she’d made herself a cup of coffee back in the cottage. ‘Do you fancy a flat or a house this time?’

  ‘A house. I want a garden where I can put plant pots and a table and chairs. Look what me and Marcus did yesterday.’ She changed the screen view so Mali could see the yard. ‘Isn’t it gorgeous?’

  ‘Beautiful.’ There was a pause on the other end of the phone. She could almost hear Mali’s brain cogs working. ‘You don’t want to move, do you?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ she admitted, ‘I feel so at home here. And I’ve got more photography work at the hotel, and a couple of other jobs too. I guess it’s like taking a long holiday, you don’t want to go back home, but once you’re back then you’re fine, and slip back into your old life again.’

  She didn’t want to go back to her old life, though. And to be honest, Mali and Lou were about the only people she missed. She’d got on well with the other members of the insurance firm that she’d worked for, but it hadn’t been her dream job, and the people she’d met here in Port Medden had made her feel so welcome. Mandy, Sue, the couple at the café. Marcus.

  She could stay here. She could rent somewhere. She shook her head. No, that wouldn’t work.

  She could go to France, like her dad had suggested.

  For the first time in her life, she felt rootless, as if she had no anchor, and that both scared and excited her.

  ‘Turn towards the camera now and keep stirring the pot,’ Hattie instructed.

  Marcus complied, half-turned towards her, his right hand stirring the beef goulash. Hattie was frowning in concentration, her white-blond hair tucked behind her ears, as she took a few shots from different angles.

  She was a good photographer, he knew that; he’d seen some of her shots. He thought back to the day he’d told her off for taking a photo of him surfing. She must have thought he was really up himself.

  ‘There, that should be enough.’

  ‘How many photos do you need?’ he teased, although he knew that she’d taken a few so she had plenty to choose from.

  ‘Only one, as you know. And you look really cute with that hat and apron on.’

  Marcus wrinkled his nose, knowing she was teasing him back. He always tied his hair up when he was cooking, and donned a chef’s hat and apron, it was part of the hygiene standards the hotel insisted on. ‘I guess I’m not going to be the sexiest one on the website.’

  ‘It’s about looking professional but natural, not sexy,’ she told him. Then she winked. ‘But you’re not too bad.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He stirred the pot again, dipped a spoon in to taste it and added a bit more salt before turning back to Hattie. ‘Are you almost finished now?’

  ‘Just the evening bar staff to do and that’s it.’ She ran her fingers through her hair to release it from behind her ears. ‘Jonathan phoned. He’s got three viewings already.’

  Marcus raised an eyebrow. ‘That was quick. How do you feel about it?’

  She shrugged. ‘Well, it’s not to say any of them will make an offer. I mean, homes can be on the market for ages. But I guess I’d better start emptying out those wardrobes and cupboards.’

  ‘Want me to come around and help tomorrow?’ he offered.

  ‘What about your painting? Don’t you have a new commission?’

  ‘I start it next week, so I can help you out for a couple of days before then. I’m guessing we might need my van to shift some of the stuff.’

  ‘That would be great, thanks. I’ve got to pop out in the morning, a couple want me to take photographs of their baby, but I’ll be back midday.’

  ‘See you after lunch then.’

  She nodded, gave him a little wave and went out to carry on with her photographs.

  Marcus turned back to his cooking. The hotel was pretty full and the restaurant packed tonight, so he was too busy to think about Hattie’s news, but when he walked past her cottage later that evening and saw the light on in the lounge, he thought how quickly he’d got used to her living next door. He was going to miss her.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ‘I remember this. I didn’t realise he still had it.’ Marcus picked up a navy flat cap from the pile of clothes, hats, shoes and boxes that they had just pulled out of the wardrobe in Uncle Albert’s room.

  Hattie glanced over. ‘I remember him wearing a cap too. I’m not sure if it was this one.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised. It was looking quite tatty when I first met him. He used to practically live in it, but then one day he started wearing a brown cap instead. I guessed the navy one had got too tatty and he’d dumped it.’ His gaze skimmed the assortment of stuff on the floor. ‘Looking at all this, he didn’t dump much!’

  ‘Lots of old folk are like that. In their time, you made do and mended, my gran was always saying that.’ Hattie bit her lip and busied herself picking up the clothes and pushing them into one of the black bags they’d brought up with them so that Marcus wouldn’t see the tears that had sprung to her eyes. She’d been close to her maternal grandparents and it had hit he
r hard when they’d died.

  She felt an arm wrap around her shoulder. ‘Still miss her, eh?’

  So he had noticed. She nodded numbly. ‘At least she had grandpa, and when he died, me and Mum used to visit her. I hate to think of poor Uncle Albert being on his own.’ Damn, why was she getting all sentimental? It was looking at all this stuff, the remnants of her uncle’s life, imagining him all sad and lonely. No one to care about him, no one to talk to. And he’d been so jolly and kind when they’d stayed with him every summer. She couldn’t bear to think of him huddled in that rocking chair by the fire, a blanket over his lap to keep him warm, and only Buddy for company.

  He had Marcus too.

  Marcus’s arm tightened around her shoulder. ‘He liked his own company, and me and Winnie used to pop in.’

  ‘I guess.’ She nestled her head into his shoulder, taking comfort from his embrace. ‘We should have kept in touch, though. Made sure he was okay.’ Her dad should have, anyway, Uncle Albert had been his brother. But then he’d barely had time for her, his daughter, never mind his much-older brother who lived down the bottom end of England!

  She heard Marcus catch his breath. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I was too hard on you about that, I know I was. I had no right. Albert never complained about not seeing his family. I don’t want you to feel bad about it. This must be a really emotional time for you.’

  She lifted her head to reassure him that it was all right, but he was looking down at her, his eyes darkening as they met hers, and she couldn’t speak, the words were caught in her throat as she drowned in his gaze, her heart thudding so loudly in her chest she was sure he could hear it. Then he was pulling her closer to him, and he was lowering his head, and she was raising hers to meet his lips, and they were kissing but it was like a kiss she had never experienced before. A kiss that made her pulse race and sparks of desire explode through her body. A kiss that was getting deeper and deeper as Marcus caressed the back of her head with the hand that wasn’t holding her shoulder, and she reached her right hand up to lightly stroke his cheek.