The Promise

by Michelle Vernal

  ‘Oh, you startled me.’ Isabel jumped at the sight of Rhodri who was standing in the kitchen. He was pouring boiling water into his teacup and remembering her state of undress she clutched at the towel with her spare hand.

  ‘Sorry about that, I called out, but you mustn’t have heard me. I popped upstairs to make a brew, and I wanted to know how you got on with Constance today.’ He turned away fishing the teabag out of the cup, but not before she saw the amused look on his face.

  She took the opportunity to scoop her jeans up off the rack ‘It was her, but she didn’t give anything away,’ Isabel said, before hot-footing it back up the stairs to her bedroom.

  ‘You’ve got a great voice by the way,’ he called after her.

  Isabel closed her bedroom door and leaned her head against it, realising, as she did so, that she still had the shower cap on. Oh well, if she was going to make a complete prat of herself, she might as well do a proper job it. There was a lot to be said for living alone, she decided pushing away from the door and digging out a clean T-shirt to wear with her jeans. She debated hiding out in her room until Rhodri had returned to the gallery but decided she’d better face the music.

  ‘I meant it you know. You do have a lovely voice,’ Rhodri said, as she reappeared fully clothed and minus the shower cap this time. He frowned putting down the packet of digestive biscuits he’d just opened and tapped the side of his neck. ‘You’ve something there.’

  Her hand inadvertently flew up to her neck and connected with the honey she’d slathered on after her bath. She looked at the sticky mess on her fingers deciding an explanation was required. ‘It’s honey. I get a bit of eczema now and then, and just before I left her, Constance who was the the same Constance I was looking for, shared a natural remedy with me for it. I thought I’d give it a try,’ she offered up before adding, ‘I don’t make a habit of running baths in the middle of the day either, but she also recommended bathing in horsetail tea, and I wanted to see if it would work.’

  ‘Horsetail tea?’ He raised his teacup. ‘I think I’ll stick with good old Earl Grey thanks. And, hey, it’s fine by me if you want to have a bath in the middle of the day.’ Rhodri took a sip of his tea before asking, ‘Did it work?’

  ‘Yes actually, it did.’ She held her arm out and inspected the crook where the angry red patch had been a few short hours ago. Now, the patch had faded to a muted pink and didn’t feel in the least bit irritable. She felt inordinately pleased that her efforts had been worthwhile and made a note to telephone Don, the man she’d met on the Pier, to pass on her results.

  ‘Do you always like a bit of a sing-song when you’re in the bath then? I suppose the bathroom has good acoustics,’ Rhodri asked interrupting her train of thoughts.

  This time, it wasn’t eczema that caused her skin to flame. She’d been so caught up in her wee operatic world she hadn’t given a thought to how bloody loud she was. The whole of Ryde Pier had probably heard her imaginary concert with Andre.

  ‘Personally, I always like to belt out a bit of Tom when I’m in the shower.’

  ‘Tom?’

  ‘Jones, of course. ‘I’m Welsh, and we come from the same town, Pontypridd.’

  ‘Ah right.’ The name rang a bell; she’d Google him later she decided raising a small smile.

  A silence stretched between them as Isabel set about making herself a drink. Rhodri lingered a fraction longer than was necessary before saying, ‘Well, I’d best be getting back downstairs to deal with the hordes of art connoisseurs waiting patiently for me to finish my tea break. And I’m glad you found Constance. Do you feel any different having passed the message to her?’

  ‘No, if anything I’m even more curious to know the story behind what Ginny said now. She didn’t give anything away. I’m going to go back and see her in a couple of days, even if she was a right Oscar the Grouch and tell her how I got on with her recommendations. Who knows, maybe she’ll tell me how they were connected once she’s had a chance to mull it over. I think hearing Ginny’s name came as a shock to her.’ Isabel helped herself to a digestive biscuit and bit into it. She’d have to sweep those crumbs up along with the sand, she thought, looking at the kitchen floor. ‘I’m happy to mind the shop for you from time to time, you know.’

  ‘Thanks, I might take you up on that. It’d save hanging my ‘back in five minutes’ sign up and maybe missing that crucial sale.’

  She smiled, and mumbled through a crumbly mouthful, ‘It’s the least I can do.’

  ͠

  Isabel whiled away what was left of her afternoon off with a stroll along the pier, and as she ascended the stairs to the flat, her nostrils twitched. She could smell something cooking and whatever it was promised to be divine. Rhodri had his back to her as he stood at the stove, and he jumped as she appeared alongside him curious as to the contents of the pot he was stirring on the stove.

  ‘Sorry, that smells gorgeous what’s for dinner?’

  ‘My mum’s stew; it never lets me down.’ He offered by way of explanation. ‘Glass of red?’

  ‘Ooh lovely, yes please.’ Isabel pulled a chair out at the table while Rhodri poured her a glass from the open bottle on the bench next to him. He put it down in front of her. ‘I’m quite enjoying my stay at Pier View Guest House so far. Cheers,’ she said, the cheeky twinkle in her eye as she raised her glass not escaping him.

  ‘You’ll leave a good review on Trip Advisor then?’

  ‘Five stars.’ A conversation ensued about a documentary Isabel had seen on people who take reviewing on the popular site a step too far. She finished telling Rhodri that she thought it was a rather sad way to live your life, going around picking holes in people’s livelihoods. ‘The Internet has made everybody an armchair critic,’ she announced, as Rhodri popped a breadboard and knife down in front of her and handed her a baguette in a brown paper bag.

  ‘Butter’s in the fridge; you can do the honours if you like.’

  Isabel retrieved the butter and began to slice the fresh bread, slathering a piece in butter. She popped it in her mouth while Rhodri’s back was turned. He turned from the stove to see her looking rather chipmunk-like.

  ‘Caught you!’

  She cut him a piece and buttered it before handing it over. ‘Now we’re even.’

  Isabel tucked into the plate Rhodri popped down on the table a short while later. The meat melted in her mouth and she made short shrift of her dinner, mopping the sauce up with the bread.

  He looked at her with amusement. ‘You’ve got gravy on your chin.’

  Isabel wiped it away with the back of her hand, embarrassed at how she’d hoovered her meal down, but she’d been starved. ‘That was delicious; you’re a really good cook. Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I better get a move on; I’ve been invited around to a friends for coffee and dessert.’

  Isabel’s antennae quivered. Coffee and dessert eh? That sounded rather posh. She didn’t know many fellas who would lay on coffee and dessert for their mates. Come to think of it she didn’t know any girls who’d do that either. She wondered who he was off to see. He hadn’t alluded to a girlfriend as yet.

  He got up from the table, ‘Sorry to leave you with all this.’ He gestured at the bench.

  He was even a tidy cook, Isabel thought, looking at the neatly stacked pots and pans. ‘Don’t be silly, that’s our arrangement remember. You cook, and I’ll clean, and having just sampled your culinary skills I think I got the winning end of the deal.’

  He grinned and shrugged into his jacket. ‘It’s nice to have someone to cook for.’ As he reached the top of the stairs he paused and called over to her, ‘You know, Isabel this is your flat too, so feel free to have your friend over.’

  Isabel, still sitting at the dinner table rather full to move just yet looked over at him blankly. She didn’t have any friends on Wight except Brenda. She wasn’t sure she could count her as a friend though given she was her boss and she’d only known h
er for two days.

  ‘Er, the friend you were meeting after you left here yesterday.’

  Her face felt as though someone had turned the oven dial to high heat.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Rhodri said. ‘Very sensible.’

  ‘You can’t be too careful,’ Isabel said. ‘You know stranger danger and all that.’

  Chapter 26

  ‘Penny for them?’ Rhodri said appearing in the kitchen with an empty mug in hand. It was Friday morning, and they’d settled into a companionable routine of sorts over the course of the week. His day began well before hers. He liked to squeeze in a few early morning hours painting downstairs in the gallery before opening up for the day. Rhodri would usually appear in the kitchen in search of a hot beverage and to exchange morning pleasantries while Isabel was still in her pyjamas reading the latest island news over coffee and toast, much to his amusement. It wasn’t that she liked to keep up with Wight’s current affairs so much, it was more that it made her feel like a proper Islander when she sat reading the paper and she liked that feeling.

  The days panned out with Isabel heading off to the Rum Den at midday and reappearing back at Pier View House when her dinner break rolled around. Her waistband was already feeling a tad tighter thanks to her second helpings each night.

  At the sound of his voice this morning, however, she recalled their conversation over dinner last night and hoped by confiding in him as much as she had he didn’t think she was a total loser. It had begun with her breaking her mum’s golden rule of talking with her mouth full as she told him, ‘You should have been a chef you know. You missed your calling.’

  Rhodri had put down the spoon upon which he was using his fork to twirl his pasta up. ‘You’ve bolognaise sauce on your nose.’ He grinned before adding, ‘And thank you for the compliment, but sometimes when a hobby becomes a job, the joy can disappear from it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Isabel had asked, picking up the napkin next to her glass of wine and using it to wipe off the offending sauce.

  ‘I love to cook, it relaxes me but having to cook and under pressure too would be a completely different thing. I’d turn into Gordon Ramsay effing and blinding. It’s the same with my painting. If I were to paint full time and try to earn a living from it, then it would become forced, and a lot of the pleasure I get from the process would disappear. I like the freedom of being able to paint what I want, not what someone else wants me to. It’s the same with cooking. Not a great attitude to have if you want to make a living at something. Hence I run a gallery selling other people’s work.’ He’d popped the pasta laden fork in his mouth.

  ‘I’d like to see some of your work,’ Isabel said. The easel upon which he was currently working was always hidden away under a sheet by the time she ventured downstairs for the day. Rhodri didn’t reply, and she’d pondered over what he’d said while running a finger around the edge of her bowl to mop up the last of the tomato sauce. It was another dinner time misdemeanour that would have got a slap on the hand from Babs Stark. Yes, she’d thought, savouring the sauce, she could understand what he was saying.

  ‘And Isabel, I could say the same thing to you about your singing you know. You have a beautiful voice so why aren’t you doing something with it? How come you’re presently pulling pints in a pub and not a YouTube sensation? Not that there is anything wrong with pulling pints. I’m curious that’s all.’

  That had taken her aback. It reminded her of a game of ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ she’d played as a youngster with Steven Flintoff who’d lived across the way. She’d thought for a second, unsure how far she wanted to go with this conversation and then decided to tell Rhodri the truth. There was something open and honest about him that invited her to confide. ‘When I was a kid, all I ever wanted to be when I grew up was a singer. The thing is though it’s not enough just to sing, you have to be the full package, and I’m not.’ She’d shrugged. ‘I never had the confidence to put myself out the front of anything really and to just go for it. And, I’m okay with that, I have come to the conclusion I’m a bit of an introvert.’

  Rhodri looked incredulous. ‘With that hair? And what about the way you barrelled on up to my American customer the other day? That sale wouldn’t have happened without you. No, an introvert you’re not,’ he said, shaking his head.

  Isabel toyed with her glass. ‘It’s hard to explain, but when it comes to some things I can push myself out of my comfort zone, but when it comes to singing that’s strictly relegated to the privacy of the bathroom.’

  The smile Rhodri had given her across the table reassured her he wasn’t judging her, so she’d carried on. ‘I never found anything else I was passionate about other than singing, and after I left school, I worked here and there and went out with my friends and had fun.’ She paused before blurting, ‘Then I met Connor. I thought he might be ‘the one’ until I surprised him one night and found him shagging Ashley, one of my best friends. I took off for Australia after that.’

  ‘I don’t blame you. That’s awful. But you know shit happens, and you move on.’

  ‘It does, and I did, or I thought I’d put it all behind me while I was away. I mean I’m over Connor; he was an arse and Ashley, well, she was never really my friend. Not if she could do that to me. The thing is I ran into another friend a couple of days after I arrived home. To cut a long story short, she’s getting married, and Ashley is one of her bridesmaids. She asked me if I’d try and patch things up with her so I could be in the bridal party too.’ This time it had been Isabel who shook her head. ‘There’s just no way. I can’t forgive either Connor or Ashley for what they did. If I’m honest, it was a relief to get on the ferry away from all of them, so here I am pulling pints on Wight. Speaking of which,’ she said, getting up from the table and carrying her empty bowl over to the sink. ‘Now you know my life story, I’d better wash this lot up and get back to work.’

  Now, with the smell of toast and coffee hovering in the air, Rhodri nodded toward the paper Isabel had spread across the table. ‘It’s not that scintillating surely?’

  Isabel realized she’d been staring at a headline emblazoned with the news that a Green Party MP was due to visit the island.

  ‘No it’s not. I’m away with the fairies, sorry.’ The week had whizzed by thanks to her busy shifts at the Rum Den, and she was just about used to the long hours and late finishes. Her mind before Rhodri’s appearance had been on Constance. She’d decided she’d call in at the shop where she’d brought her herbs and honey and pop in on Constance before she was due at the Rum Den at lunchtime—let Delwyn and Constance know how she’d gotten on with her concoctions.

  Rhodri moved toward the kettle, but the bell at the top of the stairs that was connected to the front door rang, signalling somebody had just walked into the gallery. ‘Bugger, I was going to make a cup of tea.’

  ‘Go. I’ll bring you one down on my way out.’ Isabel raised a smile.

  By the time she’d finished getting ready and had taken the tea down to the gallery, it was empty save for Rhodri.

  ‘It was just a courier.’ He pointed at a box by his feet before taking the mug from her. ‘Thanks for this, just what the doctor ordered. How was last night’s shift?’

  Isabel was about to fill him in on her rather uneventful evening at the Rum Den when the door jangling interrupted her. A woman appeared looking impossibly ethereal as she called out hello to them both before gliding toward the counter. She was clutching a Grecian blue bowl, and Isabel couldn’t help but think she looked as though she would kneel down when she got to the counter and make an offering to the Gods. She was blonde and beautiful, and Isabel was instantly reminded of Ashley.

  The woman didn’t kneel but rather placed the misshapen bowl on the counter. ‘You left this in the studio Rhodri. I meant to give it to you the other night but forgot. I was passing so I thought I’d drop it in. It’s a bit of a masterpiece.’ She smiled, and her accent made Isabel think of posh parts of Southern En
gland. ‘I’m Nico, Rhodri’s pottery tutor.’

  The famous love scene in a movie her mum loved, Ghost flashed before her eyes except instead of Demi and Patrick in the lead roles it was this Ashley impersonator and Rhodri. It took her a second before she saw that the woman was staring at her expectantly.

  ‘Oh sorry, I’m—’

  ‘She’s away with the fairies thanks to a late night shift at the Rum Den,’ Rhodri interjected with a laugh. ‘Nico this is my new flatmate, Isabel.’

  ‘Hi, Nico. Nice to meet you.’

  Nico smiled back at her.

  ‘Thanks for dropping this in. This was my very first attempt,’ he said to Isabel. ‘Pottery is not easy the wheel has a mind of its own.’

  ‘It’s cute,’ Isabel said, picking up the bowl and pretending not to notice its odd shape. ‘I love the colour.’

  ‘It’s rubbish, but I can only get better. Right, Nico?’

  ‘Right.’

  Isabel laughed. ‘I remember having a go on a potter’s wheel in art at high school. It was fun getting all messy, but I don’t think I came home with anything worth shouting about.’ Isabel inhaled reminding herself that this woman was not Ashley and to be nice. ‘Where are your classes held, Nico?’

  ‘I have a little studio at the bottom of my garden, and I’m pretty flexible with whatever works with my students, time wise. You’re welcome to pop along sometime with Rhodri and have a turn. I love your hair by the way.’

  ‘Oh, thanks and thanks for the offer. I might just do that.’ She had no intention of doing that; there was something a little intense about Nico’s gaze. ‘Right, well nice meeting you, but I’d best be on my way. I have a few jobs to do before my shift.’

  ‘Bye, nice meeting you too.’ Nico gave her a slow smile.

  ‘Okay. Catch you later.’ Rhodri replied, still inspecting his bowl.