Now it was Ness’s turn to laugh. “Eight million? You’re talking fantasy numbers here.”
“These figures are real, believe me. My legal team move fast, Nessa. That money could be yours by next month. Eight million pounds.”
Max wished he could see her at this moment. What would the expression on her face be? Greed? Excitement? Disgust? There was no way of reading somebody over a telephone.
“It might as well be eight million magic beans. I’m not selling to you. You can offer me whatever you want. Pirran Island is not for sale.”
A challenge. Max sat up. “Are you trying to push me higher?”
“No. I said I’m not selling to you. The island isn’t for sale.”
“Nessa, come on. You have to be realistic. There’s more damage to the castle than you can handle. You’ve got no money and no hope of any income or grants in the foreseeable future. How on earth will you make it pay?”
“That’s my business,” she snapped, and Max knew he’d hit a nerve. Nessa Penwellyn didn’t have a clue how to solve the mess she was in. She was probably scouring the castle in the hope of finding any antiques Armand and Jamie might have overlooked.
“But it doesn’t have to be just your business,” he said softly. “Ness, this must be a huge burden to carry. Let me help. I’ve already said we can work on the project together and I’ll give you an apartment. Imagine how it would feel to see the castle come back to life and know that it was thanks to you. If you don’t sell now the whole place will be in disrepair and probably beyond salvaging. You’re not doing Pirran Island any favours by clinging on.”
“And I won’t be doing it any favours by selling out to you. Don’t give me all that crap about saving the place. You just want to make money out of it. That’s all people like you care about.” Her voice was shaking with fury and Max was stung by her accusation.
“I certainly care about the castle but it needs money to be protected. If you can’t see that then you’re naïve at best and stupid at worst.”
“Naïve and stupid,” Ness repeated slowly. “Well, we’ll see about that. Take your millions, Max. I hope they make you really happy. This island is not for sale. Not now, not ever, and certainly not to you.”
Then all Max heard was the dial tone. Ending the call, he placed his iPhone on the desk and stared sightlessly across the city. There had been a steely edge to Ness’s parting words and Max knew he’d played his hand badly. Ness wasn’t the kind of woman to be cajoled or intimidated or persuaded. She was independent and strong and utterly determined to succeed. Now she would do everything in her power to prove him wrong. Of course she would. It was exactly how he would react if it had been him. For the first time in his life, Max Reynard had met somebody as purposeful and bloody-minded as himself.
And he didn’t have a clue what to do next.
Chapter 20
Ness wasn’t usually inclined to call meetings but desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, this wasn’t so much a meeting as a council of war.
Almost a week had passed since the storm hit St Pirran, a week in which Ness very quickly realised that the damage would run into tens of thousands to put right. Thanks to the efforts of Josh’s stonemason dad, Adam, and some of Merryn’s friends, the tea shop’s roof had been patched up and made watertight. Meanwhile, Annie and her team of volunteers had cleared up the mess inside. These were only temporary measures though, and if another gale struck it was doubtful whether the repairs would hold. The Pilgrim’s Gate seemed stable enough to Ness but Adam had strongly suggested that they shouldn’t allow any visitors near it. And as for the causeway and the pier? His worried expression had said it all.
“I’m not a structural engineer but this looks serious to me,” he’d told Ness and Lucy when the tide had been far enough out to allow for close inspection. “I’d say it’s a job for a specialist team. That crack could stay the same way for another decade or one big storm could split the top section clean away. My advice would be to fix it as soon as possible in case things deteriorate further. I certainly wouldn’t recommend leaving it beyond the autumn.”
Lucy had looked close to tears. “But won’t that be very expensive?”
“I expect so,” Adam had said gently. “But there are grants for these kinds of thing. I’ll look into that for you, if you like.”
Ness had felt close to tears herself when they’d moved on to examine the causeway. The mile-long path looked like a Curly Wurly bar that a hungry giant had taken big bites out of. Unlike the pier, the repairs to this wouldn’t require experts. Adam was sure that a team of local builders would be able to handle the task, but Ness knew they wouldn’t come cheap either.
“Isn’t the council supposed to look after roads?” she’d asked hopefully, but Lucy had soon put paid to any such idea.
“The causeway’s a private road so we have to maintain it,” she’d explained. “In any case, they’d probably say that we can still use boats to reach the island. There’s no way the council will help. It’s hardly a matter of priority.”
So, short of investing in some amphibious vehicles or resigning herself to not being able to get anything that wasn’t a four-by-four across to the island, Ness was going to have to find a way of stumping up for repairs. She’d been on what had to be her fifth sweep of the castle in search of any stray Ming vases that might save the day, when the phone had rung in the Small Hall with bloody Max Reynard on the line offering her the answer to all her problems.
Eight million. It was an amount that Ness couldn’t even imagine and one that would certainly solve all her difficulties. Eight million pounds. It was a vast sum of money, the kind that lottery winners had printed on giant cheques or that celebrities spent on Hollywood mansions. Nevertheless, it was an offer she wouldn’t contemplate for even a second. There was no way she’d dream of selling to Max Reynard. She wasn’t going to watch him turn the castle into luxury apartments while ripping the heart out of the place. He might try to sway her with all his talk of rescuing the building but Ness wasn’t fooled; a man like Max only cared about money.
She wouldn’t sell to him. She’d be buried in the rubble first – which was looking more and more likely by the day if she couldn’t come up with some rescue plan soon. Still simmering with anger after the telephone conversation, Ness had decided that it was time to lay her cards on the table with the island’s other residents. She might technically own the place but, as the newcomer to St Pirran, Ness knew she had a great deal of catching up to do as well as needing all the help she could get. It was time to pool the knowledge of everyone here.
The Small Hall was an obvious gathering place. The refectory table seated everyone and as the evening sun streamed through the high windows, Ness glanced up at her uncle’s portrait reproachfully. What on earth had Armand been thinking to leave her, a total stranger, his estate but no money to maintain it? Lucy could keep saying that he would have had his reasons until she was blue in the face, but Ness wasn’t convinced. What possible reason could he have had for placing everything in jeopardy? He must have lost his mind.
“Shall we make a start?” Annie asked Ness. She glanced at the longcase clock with a frown. “There are only a couple of hours until the tide turns and I’ve walked over.”
“I could take you back,” Fern offered from her place opposite. “If I drive the boat, Merryn can tell me what to do. It can’t be that hard.”
Merryn, whose wrist was still strapped up, rolled his eyes. “There’s no way I’m letting you loose with Guardian Angel, Fern. I’d still like to have a boat to work once I’m out of plaster.”
While they squabbled and Lucy tried to distract them by dishing up slices of apple cake, Ness took a mental roll call. Yep, all present and correct. Annie was sitting at the far end with a spiral-bound notepad and brandishing a red biro, Fred was dozing beside her and even Biscuit had shown up. She took a deep breath. This was it. It was time to let them know just how bad things really were.
&nb
sp; “Max Reynard’s offered me eight million pounds for the island,” she began. Talk about the shock factor! Leaping in with this had certainly got their attention. Even Fred looked up in amazement.
“Bloody hell,” said Fern. “He’s not messing about, is he?”
“Max Reynard never messes about,” Annie remarked. “When he wants something he generally goes after it until it’s his.”
“Eight million though,” whispered Lucy, looking stunned. “Oh Ness, none of us would blame you if you sold for that price. We all know how hard it is here.”
“I told Max he can offer me whatever he wants, I’m not selling,” Ness said firmly. She was rewarded with a collective sigh of relief. “But,” she added, holding up a hand before they could all start asking questions, “he did make one really good point, which is that the island does need a lot of money spent on it. There were huge amounts of work to do even before the storm.”
“And we don’t have any money.” Merryn shook his blond head. “I can see that in your eyes, Ness. You’ll have to sell. What choice is there?”
“I’m not selling!” said Ness, horrified. “No way! But you all know that Armand’s estate just about covered the death duties and bequests. There’s very little left in the pot now to support the day-to-day running of the island and the castle, let alone cover any repairs after the storm.”
“So basically we’re skint,” said Fern.
“That’s one way of putting it,” Annie agreed. “Ness, maybe you should seriously consider selling while there’s a good offer rather than be forced to sell further down the road and possibly for less.”
“I’m not selling,” Ness said again. “Not while we still have options, anyway.” There was silence as she glanced around the table at their serious faces. “Oh dear. This is the point where I was really hoping somebody would come up with a genius idea and save the day? Or tell me that there’s a priceless antique somewhere we’ve overlooked?”
Fern perked up. “There are lots of paintings here, aren’t there, Lucy? And lots of lovely furniture. Those must worth something, surely?”
But Lucy shook her head. “Sorry, Fern, but I really don’t think so. This is a family home. It was bought by my grandfather; it was never a Downton Abbey style estate. All the furniture was bought at auctions and the paintings are mostly by Ness’s father. Talented as Addy obviously was, they’re not worth a great deal. Anything that was valuable was sold long ago.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” said Annie. “Armand was such a clever man. To leave the estate but no income to support it seems pointless. I simply cannot believe he’d do such a thing. What did he expect would happen?”
“He always told me the solution to everything was at my fingertips, whatever that meant. He did love his riddles. I was always playing musical ones with him,” sighed Lucy.
Annie nodded. “Yes, that sounds like the kind of cryptic remark he liked to make. Armand might have enjoyed guessing games but it’s not very helpful now. Oh! If the old bugger wasn’t dead already I would throttle him right now!”
What was it with these old people and their riddles? wondered Ness. It was all very annoying. When Ness was old she’d make a point of telling everyone exactly what was what.
“So the bottom line is that we need a lot of money,” Merryn said. “I’d offer to sell my body but I don’t think it’s up to much right now.”
His comment lightened the atmosphere briefly and there was a ripple of laughter.
“Sell veg,” hollered Fred from the far end of the table, making them all jump.
“It’s a good idea,” Fern said kindly, reaching across and patting his hand, “but we’d need to sell quite a lot.”
“I could try approaching banks for loans,” Ness suggested to Annie, who grimaced.
“Yes, that’s a possibility I suppose. I suppose I’m old fashioned, though. Borrowing money makes me nervous.”
“Wouldn’t it be a no-brainer for a bank? In return for a loan they’d have an interest in an eight-million-pound investment,” Merryn pointed out.
“But will they lend to me?” said Ness. “I’ve not been living here long?”
“You won’t have tax returns and all that sort of thing,” Annie said. “It might be difficult and anyway would a high street bank lend the kind of amount we’d need?”
“What about a private bank?” said Fern. “My father says – I mean, I’ve heard about these. Don’t they invest in projects as part of a business model?”
Interesting, thought Ness. With those words Fern had just revealed far more about her past than she probably realised.
“Venture capitalists, you mean?” Annie was asking. “Isn’t that a bit risky? The buying and selling of debts is how these companies make money. You don’t know who you could end up in hock to. I’d say to pursue this course only as a very, very last resort.”
Ness filed this away for future reference. Her ex’s father had been a venture capitalist. It was one of those jobs that people on St Antonia talked about and that she didn’t really understand. Perhaps it was time she found out?
“I’ll willingly donate all my royalties from Uncle’s estate,” Lucy offered. “They don’t come in for a while and I’m not sure how much there’s going to be, but it’s going to help, isn’t it?”
Ness smiled at her. Lucy had to be one of the most generous people she’d ever met. Not once had she complained about things being unfair – yet out of all of them it was she, who’d nursed her uncle through his illness and clearly still mourned him, who’d been the most overlooked. If Armand Penwellyn had appeared at this moment, Ness would have been inclined to have a sharp word with him.
“Of course it will,” she said warmly.
“So, we’ve ascertained that there are no antiques to sell and no immediate income with the tea room in a state of disrepair.” Merryn leaned back in his chair and his usually cheerful face was serious. “Max Reynard’s offer is a no go and the royalties from the music won’t be in for a few months.”
“There’s enough money to continue like this until the early autumn, but after that…” Lucy’s voice tailed off and she looked around helplessly. She didn’t need to say any more.
Ness’s fists clenched beneath the table. There had to be a way to carry on. Giving up was not an option. Maybe it would have been if Pirran Island was still unknown to her and just an idea, as relevant to the sweltering beachy world of St Antonia as inheriting a chunk of Mars, but now the place had wound its way into her heart. There were secrets too that she knew were waiting to be uncovered. How could she leave while Beth Penwellyn’s death was still unsolved and her father’s exile remained a mystery?
The answer was that she couldn’t. While the others discussed various ideas, Ness vowed to do everything she could to prevent the island falling into Max Reynard’s sweaty hands. The fact that his hands were actually tanned and strong and had made her tremble was one she chose to ignore.
“But Jesus came to this island!” protested Fern, and Merryn laughed bleakly.
“From the sound of what Annie’s saying, even He can’t save us now.”
“I’m not selling to Reynards. I’d rather let the whole place fall down.” Ness glanced around the table at the worried faces. “I mean it. This place isn’t for sale. We just need to think of other ways we can raise money. Enough country houses have managed it, so why not us?”
Annie nodded. “Ness is right. We already we open parts of the castle up for two days a week in the summer. If we could think of some other good ideas it would be a start.”
Merryn looked doubtful. “We’re talking a lot of money. Just maintaining a property this size takes thousands.”
Annie fixed him with the same steely stare that had reduced several generations of St Pirran’s schoolchildren to jelly. “I know that. I’m not completely gaga, but we have to try something. Surely between all of us we can come up with a plan?”
There was a collective grinding of mental cogs as eve
ryone did their best to think of a solution. This was followed by a flurry of ideas, some of which made more sense than others. Fred’s shouts of “vegetables” could have meant anything from developing a range of premium organic foodstuffs to manning a market stall, and Ness wasn’t convinced that Annie’s murder mystery weekends set in the grounds would work in the depths of winter. On the other hand, she did agree that a festival of some kind could be good.
“What about a rock concert?” Merryn said. “We’ve got local bands, and lots of celebs live nearby. We could even provide camping areas.”
“Or we could have a fairy festival!” Fern’s eyes lit up. “With yurts and music and fire-eating.”
“We could rent the castle out for filming too,” added Annie. “Look how successful Poldark was.”
“Or how about glamping?” Lucy chipped in. “Everyone loves to holiday in Cornwall, don’t they? We have the most amazing water and beaches here, even if it is cold.”
Ness nodded. Tourism was something she did know about and it had crossed her mind that this could be a solution of sorts. The gin-clear waters off the island were beautiful, and the marine life was breathtaking. With a good wetsuit, the diving would be fantastic – and with the amount of wildlife that surrounded them, ecotourism could be another direction for them to take.
“Nude calendar?” Fern was saying, grinning across at Merryn. “I bet lots of local girls would pay to see you with your kit off! Or maybe not actually? Most of them have already seen that!”
“Lucky for you I’m injured,” Merryn said good-naturedly. Turning to Ness, he added, “I think we’ve got some really good ideas here. Why don’t each of us take one and then do some research? We can meet again in a week and see what we’ve got.”
At this point the meeting drew to a close as everyone decided what their pet project would be. Although they were still in a precarious position there was now an air of optimism in the room and a buzz of energy too. If gathering together had only succeeded in raising spirits then it had been worth every minute.
The Island Legacy Page 24
