A Manor in Cornwall

by Laura Briggs

  A posh tone meant to be humorous, but somehow it worked for her. It gave me a spark of a notion that this was the hidden facet of personality that would carry Kitty through the next task on my list.

  I had spoken to the pyrotechnics expert earlier about keeping the display short, tasteful, and avoiding anything that would leave a lot of debris or create a fire hazard by bursting prematurely, but I planned to follow up one last time with his crew. That left only the job of greeting the guests who arrived at the manor for the second half of the performance.

  "So what do we do now?" Kitty asked.

  In the distance, the heavenly sound of Wendy Alistair's voice rose with the trill of a classical soprano. I checked the time — less than fifteen minutes to go.

  "I have to speak to the FX crew one last time," I said. "So you should wait by the door for the guests when they arrive at the manor. Security will check their V.I.P. cards, but someone has to greet them officially on our behalf before they enter the ballroom.

  The color disappeared from Kitty's face. "Me?" she repeated. I thought I detected a slight note of panic in her voice. "Greet the guests? Those posh — I mean, the people who are at the concert?"

  "Why not?" I said. I planted my hands on my hips now, too. "Think you can't handle a nice smile and a few simple words?"

  Kitty looked away. I could see the gears were turning inside her. Debating whether to take my challenge — while I was wondering if I was taking a risk by suggesting it.

  She sighed. "I guess I'm off to the door," she said. "See you later." She flashed me a smile that I felt wouldn't be a bad one for greeting the event's attendees — if it wasn't slightly sarcastic, that is — then marched in the direction of the front door.

  I crossed my fingers that this was not the mistake everyone else would claim it to be.

  Now that Kitty was gone, I took the pathway towards the concert, one lit by several battery-operated candles clustered in attractive groups or held aloft inside carriage lanterns on posts. No guests were here, only members of the film and sound crew hurrying back and forth on errands. Nathan the event promoter was there, too, having apparently been in the thick of things until recently.

  "Double-checking the fireworks," I said, when he caught sight of me.

  "Good thinking," he said. "It's ten minutes until the big moment."

  He had shed his overcoat and his business jacket despite the cool evening, his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing muscular arms beneath them. I had no idea what all he had been doing until now, but I could see telltale signs of exhaustion on his face, and even a little smear of dirt on the bridge of his nose. He looked younger than ever — especially since he was still feigning energy and cheerfulness.

  "You have a little something..." I began, as I rubbed my own nose. Nathan picked up on the signal and brushed the streak from his own.

  "Thanks," he said. "I got a little grimy helping them position those candles in the big rocks by the dell's entryway. Something about the spacing for the camera...you know how it is."

  "This event's been a lot of trouble for you, hasn't it?" I said. "I think you'll be glad to say goodbye to us afterwards."

  "I don't know," said Nathan. "This isn't a bad place to be. It's pretty, and it's got charm." He glanced around. The twilight grove was nothing but shadows of trees, with the pinpoints of real candle flames flickering in the dark. "I've never been in the country before, so I didn't know what to expect."

  "I still can't believe you did all this just for Cornwall," I said. "Maybe for your career, or for Wendy's — but not for a place you'd never even seen."

  "Why not?" he asked. "I think every place deserves to be recognized. Why not give this place a chance to be seen by people who don't even know it's on the map? Maybe by somebody out there who has always dreamed of somewhere like this one."

  I smiled. "I hope you're right," I answered. "See you later." I cut across to the temporary footpath that led to the fireworks team's van, which was parked within sight of the display's zone across the way — placed far enough from the concert that the noise wouldn't interfere with the music.

  Despite Lady Amanda's wish, she and Lord William weren't among the guests seated in the clearing, but they had staked out a spot to hear the concert further up the little hill leading towards the timberline. Stealing a few minutes before it was time for the event at the manor itself.

  They weren't alone, however. Even in the dark, I recognized Matthew seated beside them on the lawn blanket, his suit jacket laid next to him.

  "Matthew?" I said.

  "Finally," he answered. "I was afraid I was going to have to sneak below and find you."

  "I just had a last-minute conference before the fireworks," I said. "I didn't know you were coming tonight. How did you get in?"

  "I slipped in across the fields," he said. "And William was kind enough to give me a ride in the field truck."

  "I'm afraid he's been stuck with us the whole time, waiting for the fireworks to begin," said Lord William. "I hope it outdoes firecrackers on Guy Fawkes Day. I want something a bit more dramatic, comparable to the Queen's Diamond Jubilee, perhaps," he joked.

  "We'll only catch a few minutes of it, really," said Lady Amanda. "We'll have to hurry back to the manor. The concertgoers can't very well show themselves inside, can they?"

  "Don't worry," I said. "I've got that covered, at least for a few minutes. You can afford to catch the whole show." I calculated that Kitty could probably handle the first few guests without a problem, anyway. "Besides, I'll be hurrying back myself as soon as it's over."

  "Until then, come for a walk with me," said Matt, who rose and stretched out his hand for mine. I took his hand and we strolled a short distance away from Lady Amanda and Lord William. The shadows of the trees surrounded us as Wendy's last song carried itself on the breeze beyond the clearing.

  "I hope they pinned her hair back against the sea breeze," I said, leaning against him. "It murders every hairstyle I try, that wind."

  "I think it looks beautiful," he said. "I like seeing the breeze play with it. In the sun, it brings out the bits of red and gold." I felt his fingers stroke it, tucking a strand gently behind my ear.

  "Are you cold?" he asked. I was rubbing one arm with my free hand.

  "A little," I admitted. "This is the first time I haven't been rushing around all day." I hadn't worn a coat, my sheer black cap sleeves barely even protecting my shoulders.

  "Here." He draped his coat around my shoulders. "That should be better." I buried my nose against its collar, catching his scent on the fabric.

  Matt drew me against him, his cheek resting against mine. "This is nice," I murmured. "I listened to your suggestion. I found someone to help me, and now I finally have a moment to myself."

  "And here you are, wasting it on me," said Matt.

  "Shut up. How else do you think I would spend it?"

  "I don't know," said Matt, laughing. "But I wish you had more of them so we could find out. You with spare time...me with no lecture to rush off to, or garden in need of a consultation."

  "Maybe I could find a way," I murmured. "I want to go to Pencarrow with you this Saturday. I want to stroll beside you in the gardens, meet your friends. Maybe have a picnic lunch. I don't want to spend it worrying about stray receipts or last-minute phone calls."

  "It might be slightly cool for a picnic," said Matt. "You're forgetting about fall in Cornwall."

  "Let me guess. There's rain on Saturday, too," I said.

  In the distance, the first crackle and thunder of the fireworks began.

  "We could have a nice tea somewhere," Matt suggested. "Just the two of us with a few cucumber sandwiches, watching the rain patter against the windows."

  "While talking about everything we never have a chance to talk about," I said. "You know. Us."

  Matt sighed. "I wish it could last forever," he said. "Moments like this. Just the two of us, no responsibilities or errands to pester us every second."

 
; "Well, I hope you're pleased," said a different voice — this one belonging to Noreen Prowse, who was emerging from the woods. "You've gotten your way on terrifying the defenseless avian species of the county. Just listen to that horrible noise." In one hand, she held a stout walking stick, an outdoor satchel swung over the opposite shoulder. Bits of twig and leaf clung to her tweed coat and hat.

  "Good evening, Mrs. Prowse," I said. "Lovely weather, isn't it?"

  She sniffed. "I have greater matters on my mind than the weather, I fear."

  "Rest assured, Mrs. Prowse, the resident birds have already migrated from our cliffs until spring," said Matthew. "I wouldn't have presented that point at the meeting if I had felt any doubt, I assure you."

  "You always have been loyal to the natural species of Cornwall," said Mrs. Prowse, although she still sounded doubtful. "So I suppose I'll have to take your word for it. Goodnight, all." At this moment, a loud scarlet firework boomed overhead. "Oh, the noise," she groaned, clutching her head as she hiked away along the wood line, a pocket flashlight in hand lighting the way.

  When she was safely out of earshot, Matt clutched his own head. "The birds, the birds," he groaned.

  I giggled, but I smacked him on the arm all the same. "That's not polite," I said. "Although I do feel like she'd be happy if they ate us all, like in Hitchcock's movie."

  "Sorry. She does mean well," he said, settling his arms around me again. "And I do enjoy the bird watcher's society. I once helped them pass a motion locally to ban cliff climbing in places where the native birds are nesting. It discourages people from disturbing the sites — and from stealing the eggs for profit, too."

  "You did?" I said. "You never told me that."

  "I can't tell you everything I've ever done," he chuckled. "If we told each other everything, we'd have no surprises left, would we? And I rather enjoy being surprised by you."

  Overhead, a golden burst of sparks filled the sky. One more, maybe two more, I thought, counting on making these precious seconds last before the evening began again.

  ***

  The morning of Pippa's wedding, a light shower of rain fell, but it didn't dampen her happiness. I had managed to procure a gown nearly identical to the one Pippa had loved so much in the bridal shop window, and a matching pearl and crystal tiara trimmed with a small white veil. Gemma wore a new bridesmaid's gown of a rich shade of magenta that matched Pippa's color scheme — this was the result of a few strings I pulled at a shop that owed me a favor.

  I was worried about her reaction to the reception sight until the moment Pippa finally stepped inside the barn. I had lined the pathway to it with sea shells and white stones, and the outside looked rustic and inviting, but not like the glitzy Italian-piazza style of the Silver Perch's exterior, I knew. I was afraid Pippa would be disappointed, even with all the work that Kitty and I had done.

  As she crossed its threshold, Pippa's eyes lit up, widening to take in all her surroundings. "Oh, heavens — it looks like a fairytale," she said. She squeezed Gavin's hand, then looked at me with an expression of astonishment.

  Sunlight had broken from behind the clouds, now streaming through the faux-stained glass that Kitty and I had created. Squares of bright color flooded the long rustic table covered in a white cloth, where tiny glass vases held Kitty's flower arrangement; small faux white votive candles of ivory wax flickered wherever the stone protruded to offer a convenient ledge, alongside sprigs of heather blossoms.

  In the middle of the table stood Dinah's cake, a beautiful three layer vanilla citrus concoction trimmed with candied peel and pink rose petals. On the buffet, where a catered spread waited, stood Kitty's large centerpiece trimmed with heather blossoms, its flowers looking vivid in the sunlight.

  "The colors — it's like a chapel. And look at the flowers! It looks like something out of a magazine," breathed Pippa. "Angelina Jolie could be married in a spot like this." Her voice was full of pride, almost trembling with excitement.

  "I'm glad you like it," I said. Inside, I breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  "Wow," breathed Gemma, who entered right behind the happy couple. "Look at this old place! It's a proper job, isn't it? And is that the old dollhouse?" she asked, pointing.

  "Where'd you find it?" Pippa asked. She had swooped down on it, opening and closing the little shutters with amazement. "I haven't seen this thing in years. It never looked this smashing when I was a kid, though. Like a fairy house, almost." She towed Gavin behind her, who feigned enthusiasm for the fairy house for the sake of pleasing Pippa, I detected.

  The dollhouse stood against the wall on a separate table, ringed by Kitty's wreath of artificial blossoms in Pippa's wedding colors, and a few extra candles. The main table was already set for a wedding feast worthy of an English country party— I had rented water goblets and champagne flutes from a nearby restaurant's banquet room for a modest fee, and had helped Pippa's mum find a suitable caterer to provide a ham and trimmings, and ordered four dozen of Charlotte's pasties in a smaller size to serve as appetizers.

  A few of Pippa's musician friends provided entertainment for the reception — folk tunes, including those I recognized from Troyls. With an eye roll, Pippa explained that it was Gavin's idea, not hers — but it didn't stop her from dancing to them after the champagne toast, I noticed.

  The music was lively, the food was delicious, and there was plenty of laughter throughout the reception — all in all, it was a fun, relaxed afternoon that was ten times better than some of the stiff, formal events I had planned recently. Pippa and her friends and family — including the new additions of Gavin and his mother and cousins — had a wonderful time.

  When she threw the bouquet, it wasn't Gemma who caught it, but a teenage girl I only half-recognized from the village. Her little sister laid claim to the bouquet afterwards, toddling around with it proudly, her tiny face buried in its blossoms.

  Pippa seemed deliriously happy, right up to the end of the afternoon. When I embraced her at the close, I realized that she was sniffling against my shoulder.

  "I don't know what I'm going to do, leaving here," she said, with a catch in her voice. "I've never gone off from the village before. And I'll be all the way in Hampshire — what am I going to do?"

  "You'll have a great time," I said. "You'll live in a place all your own with a charming, dashing young man. How could it get any better than that?"

  My hug wasn't as carefree as my words, however. In a few minutes, Pippa would be gone — not just from Ted Russert's transformed barn, but from Cliffs House and the village. No more Poldark viewing parties, no more celebrity gossip tidbits between her and Gemma in the manor house's kitchen.

  "I don't know," said Pippa, with a choking sound suspiciously like a sob. "I mean, it's a pretty place, I s'pose. And there's always Highclere Castle," she added, with slightly more cheer. "But it's not the same as home. I always wanted to leave ... but it's not the same."

  I wondered if that was how Kitty Alderson had felt. If leaving for Land's End, even to get away from a village that labeled her a troublemaker, hadn't been everything she had dreamed. Or was it only a matter of being a few quid short of the rent?

  I drew back, giving Pippa a smile. "You're going to love it there," I said. "And you'll come back to visit all the time. It'll be like you never left, almost."

  "Maybe," said Pippa, sniffling. "But I'm going to miss it, awfully, and I never thought I'd say that. And I'll miss Ross — I mean, Matt — too." She threw her arms around Matthew now, who put an arm around her gently, a smile of amusement on his face as he looked at me.

  "I'll miss you, too," he answered her. "Things won't be quite the same at Cliffs House without you."

  Pippa brushed a tear from her eye as she released him, and gave me a smile that was real, even if it was quivering a little. "Thanks again for everything, Julianne," she said. "It wouldn't have been half so lovely today if you hadn't done all this."

  "I had a little help," I said. "Kitty did half the work for
me. The flower arrangement was her idea — and the big centerpiece was, too."

  Pippa looked taken aback by my words, and a little surprised. "I suppose you should say 'thanks' for me, then," she mumbled, at last. "They did look a proper job, I guess." Begrudgingly, but acceptingly.

  I managed to hide my smile as I agreed with her.

  Pippa took a deep breath, gazing around her at the happy guests, and the flowers wreathing the open barn door. "I can't believe all this is happening to me," she said. "It's like magic, in a way."

  "Just think — it's the romantic adventure you always wanted," I said. "Now it's finally happened — and you're not sixty, as you feared you would be at Constance's wedding."

  She giggled. "At least that's true."

  One last hug from Gemma, one last photo snapped by her family, and Pippa was gone. She rolled the passenger window of Gavin's car down and waved goodbye to us one more time, her cheerful grin lost from sight as the car turned onto the main road. But the rest of us kept waving until the car disappeared from view.

  "So," said Matt, putting his arm around me, as we lingered among the wedding guests outside the barn. "Are you free on Saturday, now that your latest happily-ever-after is in motion?"

  "Maybe," I said. "Are you thinking about a certain picnic in northern Cornwall?"

  "Rain, my bird," he answered, his lips close to my ear.

  "What did you say?" I said, lifting one eyebrow as I gave him a look. I knew enough about British slang now to know the gist of this phrase, at least.

  He chuckled. "It doesn't mean the same thing in Cornwall," he said, evidently aware what I was thinking. "It's a term of endearment here, for a woman you care for deeply."

  "Oh. Then, by all means, go on," I said, snuggling against him again.