Kate and Clara's Curious Cornish Craft Shop: The heart-warming, romantic read we all need right now

by Ali McNamara

  The man looks up as they enter.

  ‘Afternoon,’ he says amiably.

  ‘Freddie, this is Arty,’ Maggie says excitedly, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to him. ‘Remember I told you all about him?’

  ‘Pleased ta meet ye,’ Freddie says, nodding at Arty. ‘Take a pew, won’t ye?’

  Arty pulls up a wooden stool and sits down opposite Maggie and Freddie.

  ‘So where’s the other gal then?’ Freddie asks Maggie. ‘Got the day off, has she?’

  ‘Yes, Arty is looking after me this afternoon,’ Maggie says. ‘He’s a painter too. I thought you might like to meet him.’

  Freddie gives Arty the once-over. ‘I dare say you’re a professional by the look of ye,’ he says, continuing with his work. ‘I just dabble meself. Grab yeself a piece of wood and a brush if yer staying, young Maggie.’

  ‘May I take a look at your paintings?’ Arty asks, while Maggie does what Freddie has suggested.

  ‘Be my guest,’ Freddie says. ‘I’d hardly call them paintings though, more me own scribblings.’

  Arty goes over to the stack of pictures on the floor and looks through them.

  ‘Some of these are rather good, you know?’ Arty says, pausing to gaze at a simple picture of some boats in a harbour. ‘You have a very unique style.’

  ‘Thank ye kindly,’ Freddie says. ‘I just paint what I sees, in my own way.’

  ‘Why all the wood and bits of metal though?’ Arty asks. ‘I mean, I quite like it – it’s different – but isn’t it difficult to get the paint to adhere?’

  Freddie looks at Arty kindly. ‘Probably, but the proper stuff is expensive, ain’t it. I get all my canvases for free, and some of me paints too. Make them meself, I do.’

  ‘How wonderful,’ Arty says, with genuine appreciation. ‘That’s truly amazing.’

  Freddie simply shrugs. ‘Needs must.’

  ‘So when did you start painting, Freddie?’ Arty says, moving around the room to examine more of Freddie’s work hung on the walls.

  ‘When me wife died,’ Freddie says steadily. ‘To fill the time, ye know?’

  Arty nods. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Art can be such wonderful therapy.’

  ‘I don’t know about that, but once me fishing career ended, I had too much time on me hands without Irene. It was something to while away the hours. That’s why I like having the little uns in to paint with me – they keeps me company.’

  He smiles warmly at Maggie, and she grins back happily as she sits down next to him again ready to paint her own picture.

  ‘Yes, I bet they do,’ Arty says, feeling ashamed that he had thought anything less about Freddie. ‘I can see that now.’

  *

  The images begin to swirl into a kaleidoscope of colours, and I lean back from the painting of Freddie’s cottage with Jack by my side.

  We’re sitting closer than we usually do because we’re currently squeezed into Jack’s stock-room at the back of the shop. It was too difficult to arrange an evening meeting in Jack’s flat now Ben was around, and too difficult for Jack to transport his newest painting to my shop. We’ve had to squeeze into Jack’s stock-room while Ben has gone for his lunch-break, praying that we’ll have enough time to watch our latest instalment of vintage St Felix before he returns.

  ‘Looks like the old guy was genuine after all,’ Jack says. ‘Both Arty and Clara obviously had their suspicions about him spending time with Maggie.’

  ‘Yes …’ I say absent-mindedly.

  ‘What’s up?’ Jack asks. ‘It’s unusual for you not to have a view.’

  ‘I’m thinking,’ I reply vaguely, ‘about Freddie’s pictures. We couldn’t see them all that well. Annoyingly, Arty either had them turned towards him or he was blocking them when he was standing in front.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, from the little I could see, they seem familiar, but I’m not sure why?’

  ‘How do you mean – like you’ve seen them before somewhere?’

  I nod.

  ‘That’s very odd.’

  ‘I know. Arrgh, I wish I could have seen them a little better.’

  ‘Perhaps we will next time? I wonder how long before we get another pair of matching pictures?’

  ‘Hopefully not too long. I do love spending time with Clara, Maggie and Arty – I feel like I’m addicted to a soap opera that no one else knows about.’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Jack hesitates. ‘I also love spending time with you too. It seems a shame viewing these pictures are the only time we meet up.’

  ‘Oh … Well, they don’t have to be, I suppose.’ I feel a little taken aback. ‘We could go for a drink sometime if you like?’

  ‘I’d like that,’ Jack says. ‘I’d like it very much.’

  We gaze at each other for a moment, and then as we’re both leaning towards each other the door next to us flies open.

  ‘What the—?’ Ben says, staring at us sitting in front of the easel. ‘Oops, what am I disturbing here then?’

  ‘Nothing!’ I snap, leaping to my feet. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘What are you two doing in here?’ Ben continues. ‘I came back from my lunch to find the shop shut and no one about. Then as I was about to go upstairs and see if Dad was okay I heard voices coming from the stock cupboard.’ He looks between the two of us and then at the painting on the easel and the felt embroidery sitting in front of it. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s a project we’re working on together,’ Jack says quickly. ‘Nothing you need to worry about.’

  ‘A project?’ Ben says, a knowing smile spreading across his lips. ‘Is that what they call it here?’

  ‘Yes, a project,’ Jack insists. ‘Why are you back from lunch already anyway? I thought you were going to eat by the harbour today?’

  ‘It’s now raining in case you hadn’t noticed. Oh, that’s right, you were cosying up together in here – you wouldn’t have seen or heard it. It’s hammering down out there.’

  ‘Look, I’d better go,’ I say grabbing my felt – this time embroidered to look like a black door – from the easel. ‘I’ll see you soon, Jack. Then we can talk some more about our project.’

  Jack nods, and Ben stands back to let me pass.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Ben,’ I say, feeling embarrassed once more in his presence.

  ‘And you, Kate, and you,’ he says, still grinning. ‘Say hi to Molly for me.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Ben is right – it is raining and pretty heavily, and since I haven’t brought a brolly out with me I have to run back through the suddenly empty streets as people take cover inside the shops or head back to their holiday accommodation.

  As I’m about to turn towards Harbour Street, I suddenly think better of it. Now, which way would it be? I wonder. I think back to watching Arty push Maggie through the streets of St Felix. They had gone past the church and then turned left towards the sea-front …

  I walk quickly in the direction I think Arty and Maggie took, and then I slow down when I get to a row of fisherman’s cottages, which are now mostly holiday homes.

  Nope, not this one, or this one … Bingo! This must be it, I think, as I pause outside a neat-looking, whitewashed cottage. The black stable door is no longer there, of course. It’s been replaced by a pretty pale-blue door, and the window frames are painted the same colour to match. This is definitely it – Freddie’s cottage.

  I stare at the building lost in the memory of what I’ve just seen in the moving pictures, but then jump suddenly as someone calls my name.

  ‘Kate, what are you doing standing out there in the rain?’

  I look up and to my enormous surprise see Julian staring down at me from the upstairs window.

  ‘Wait a moment, I’ll be right down!’

  I blink a couple of times, partly in shock and partly to bat away the huge raindrops that are still tumbling down my face.

  ‘Come in! Come in!’ Julian says, flinging open the door in fron
t of me. ‘You must be soaked through.’

  Slightly confused, I step into the warm and dry of the cottage. It looks nothing like it had in Freddie’s time. The front room that had been the kitchen-cum-art studio was now a cosy sitting room, and the wall that Freddie’s paintings had been hanging on has been knocked through so the whole space makes a large open-plan kitchen and sitting room, perfect for the needs of today’s modern holiday-maker. Where Freddie’s huge black stove had been stands a widescreen TV, and where Maggie and Freddie had sat painting together an L-shaped sofa now fills the space.

  ‘Let me get you a towel,’ Julian says, looking around. ‘I think there are some fresh ones upstairs in the linen cupboard.’

  He dashes up a narrow staircase while I stand looking around me. Why was Julian here in this house? I’d only come here hoping to find Freddie’s cottage – to see if it was still here. I hadn’t expected to find anyone I knew in it, let alone Julian!

  Julian returns with a couple of fluffy white towels.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, taking one from him and squeezing my hair into it. ‘I didn’t realise the rain would be quite so heavy when I set out.’

  ‘But why were you standing outside my cottage?’ Julian asks, watching me as I dry off my bare arms and dab at my shirt and jeans. ‘I had no idea you knew I was here.’

  ‘I didn’t. I … I was looking at the paintwork outside, thinking it was very pretty.’

  ‘In the rain?’ Julian asks suspiciously.

  I shrug.

  ‘Do you want me to fetch you some dry clothes?’ Julian asks. ‘Or a dressing gown? I can soon get your wet clothes sorted out. I do believe there’s a tumble-drier somewhere …’ He looks around at the kitchen as if the whereabouts of this particular appliance is a huge mystery yet to be solved.

  ‘You’re staying here?’ I ask, not answering him. The last thing I wanted was to be sitting in Julian’s presence in nothing but a dressing gown. He hadn’t said as much, but he’d suggested enough times that his feelings towards me were a little more than simple friendship. ‘I know you said you were staying in your dad’s old property while you were here, but I didn’t think an old fisherman’s cottage was your sort of place?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be usually. Normally I prefer to stay in one of the luxury apartments overlooking the bay, but because they were fully booked when I extended my visit I came here. I rent it out, you see. It’s usually taken for most of the season, but luckily we had a cancellation so it was free. It’s a little bit pokey and there’s no view, of course, but it will do for now.’

  ‘Your father bought this cottage? I ask. Something wasn’t adding up.

  ‘Yes, funny little place, isn’t it? Not my father’s usual style at all. Most of his properties were luxury villas and Georgian townhouses, but this one always seemed special to him for some reason.’

  ‘How long has your family owned this place?’ I ask. Something is bugging me but I can’t quite work out what it is.

  ‘Oh, for ever,’ Julian says. ‘I can’t remember a time when we didn’t have it. Kate, I really think you should get out of those wet clothes. As my grandmother used to say, you’ll catch your death of cold. The robes upstairs are rather lovely – we provide them for the guests.’

  ‘Okay, then,’ I agree, but only because I need to ask some more questions about this cottage.

  ‘Good,’ Julian says, nodding. ‘Upstairs on the left. Big closet on the landing. It’s locked most of the time as it’s where we keep all the clean supplies for changeovers, but I’ve just opened it to get the towels. You’ll find a stack of white robes up there waiting for you.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Would you like a warming hot chocolate when you come back down? The little café down the road does some rather lovely ones. I could pop out and get us a couple.’

  ‘But then you’ll get wet as well!’

  ‘I’ll take a brolly.’

  ‘Sure,’ I relent. ‘That would be lovely, thank you, Julian.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  I head upstairs, and as Julian had promised find a pile of newly laundered white fluffy dressing gowns in a cupboard. I grab one, and another towel, and then I quickly find the bathroom, peel off my wet clothes and pop the robe around me. Then I towel dry my hair a little more and am about to head back downstairs when I pause.

  At the top of the landing are a series of prints hung together in an artistic group. They look familiar … where have I seen them before? Oh, that’s right, I remember as I look a little more closely at them and see two initials at the bottom right of each. These are reproductions of Winston James originals – copies of the paintings I’d seen in the Lyle Gallery exhibition. It made sense that Winston would have wanted prints of his work hung here in the house he originally owned.

  Thinking no more of it I head back downstairs with my wet clothes, quickly find the mysterious tumble-drier, switch it on and then settle down on the sofa to wait for Julian. He seems to have been gone a while. I hope he hasn’t gone to too much trouble getting us hot chocolate.

  While I’m waiting I text Anita at the shop.

  Going to be a bit longer than first expected. Don’t think you’ll be busy in this weather. But if you are call me. Kate x

  As I’m putting my phone back in my bag, Anita texts back.

  Everything fine here lovey. You take as long as you need. Everything just fine. Don’t worry about anything. x

  I stare at the phone for a moment. Why does that text from Anita seem odd? I’m just reading it through again when I see Julian through the window. He has our hot chocolates in a cardboard carrier in one hand and a big black umbrella in the other.

  I hurry to the door to let him in. He passes me the drinks and then he shakes his umbrella outside. ‘It’s still torrential out there,’ he says. ‘I don’t know why you were out in it in the first place.’

  ‘Just got caught in it,’ I say. ‘Thanks for going and getting these – they smell delicious. Where did you go? You were gone a while.’

  ‘Oh, one of the little cafés along the harbour,’ Julian says, leaning his damp umbrella against the back of the door. He turns around and his eyes almost pop out of his head when he sees I’m only wearing a white fluffy dressing gown. ‘You found them then – the robes, I mean.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, pulling the robe a little tighter around me, ‘and the tumble-drier, thanks. My clothes should be dry in about half an hour, I hope.’ I sit back down on one end of the sofa, praying that Julian will sit at the other.

  He doesn’t quite do that, but sits far enough away that I feel comfortable.

  ‘So,’ I begin casually, after taking a warming sip of my hot chocolate. ‘You said your father bought this cottage a long time ago?’

  ‘Yes, I think not that long after he left St Felix. I guess he must have wanted a little bolt-hole to come back to from time to time.’

  ‘But you’ve no idea when that was?’

  ‘Er … I think he left St Felix in the late fifties, so possibly around then. Perhaps the early sixties?’

  I nod. I had to be careful or Julian might get suspicious. To be fair, I didn’t really know why I was asking all these questions. I just knew I might learn something important.

  ‘Most of these little cottages would have been owned by fishermen back then, wouldn’t they? They wouldn’t have been holiday homes like they are today.’

  ‘No, I suppose not, but even back then the fishing industry was beginning to die out. The smaller fishermen couldn’t compete with the big boys with the big boats. It’s a shame, but that’s progress for you.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. Do you think your father got a bargain with this place? I mean if a fisherman had been living here who couldn’t afford to any more, he might have been able to buy it for next to nothing.’

  ‘I doubt any fisherman living here owned this house. He probably rented it, so my father would have had to buy it from his landlord.’

  ‘Oh yes, I hadn’t thought
about that … but still, that would have been expensive, wouldn’t it? Your father must have been doing well with his painting to afford to buy a cottage here and still continue to live somewhere else.’

  Julian looks suspiciously at me. ‘Why all the questions, Kate?’

  I shrug. ‘No reason. I’m interested that’s all.’ As Julian doesn’t look all that satisfied with my answer, I continue, ‘I’ve always been interested in the history of St Felix. I love to talk about its past. Someone has always got a story or two to tell.’

  ‘That is very true. Most of it is nonsense, of course. You don’t want to be listening to all the tittle-tattle, only the true stories with historical significance.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that—’ I begin.

  ‘Really, Kate, there are some dreadful tales. I’ve heard them.’

  ‘From who?’ I ask, wondering who Julian had been gossiping with. Usually most of the tales were told in The Merry Mermaid of an evening, and I didn’t think he’d spent much time in there.

  ‘A few people,’ he says carefully. ‘Apparently my father isn’t all that popular here, despite the gallery putting on a special exhibition of his work.’

  ‘Really?’ This was the first I’d heard of this. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘A couple of folk. Not that I’d treat what they say with any seriousness. They were propping up the bar in one of the local hostelries at the time.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Er, the one on the high street, a little way down from your friend’s art shop.’

  ‘The Feathers?’ I say, surprised Julian has even set foot in there, let alone engaged with the locals.

  ‘Yes, that’s the one.’

  ‘Why did you go in there?’

  ‘You said I should try to make some new friends, so I thought I’d make a foray to the local pub. Turns out they weren’t all that friendly though.’

  ‘You should have gone to The Merry Mermaid – they’re much friendlier in there. The Feathers is mainly full of locals who play darts and pool. It’s not a family pub at all.’