Dreams of a Little Cornish Cottage

by Nancy Barone

  He nodded back in agreement. ‘That’s so you, Nat,’ he said softly. ‘Always thinking of everyone else first.’

  ‘I’m a mother, a sister and a daughter. Of course I come last.’

  ‘But you shouldn’t, Nat. When are you going to realise that?’

  I opened my mouth to reply, but it clamped shut. What could I possibly say to that?

  ‘Sorry, that was uncalled for,’ he apologised. ‘I have a feeling everything will fall into place.’

  ‘Natalia!’ my mother called from inside. ‘Get in here.’

  I jumped to my feet. For a minute I had completely forgotten about her. I’m not all that selfless, you see? What a terrible daughter I could be sometimes.

  Connor took his cue to get back to work and I took mine to be a better daughter. I opened the French doors wide. ‘Yes, Mum? Are you hungry yet? It’s almost lunchtime.’

  But she simply shrugged. ‘I want to go home now.’

  I took her hand. ‘I’m working on it, Mum.’ And that was a promise. I made a mental note to give that Hannah Williams a call. Only an agent could tell me how much I could get for Smuggler’s Rest, and only she could help me get Lavender Cottage.

  *

  When I went to change Connor’s bedding later that afternoon, I found his room as spotless as usual, minus the crunched-up sheets of paper covering his desk, as if he was trying to write something over and over again. It looked like a battlefield, where some thoughts had prevailed over the weaker ones.

  Being a writer and familiar with the painful process of the birthing of words, I wondered whether I could help. (Oh, all right, I was being a nosy cow.) I had never ever put my nose in anyone else’s business, but those sheets of paper were practically glowing with an energy of their own, beckoning for me to read them. I just wanted to see if they were the attempts at a love letter. Connor looked like the kind of bloke who would write a good one. Only not to me.

  I picked a ball of paper up and flattened it atop his desk, just for a quick look. It only had one sentence. Which almost blew me away.

  Dearest Nat,

  Before my words hurt you, I wanted to tell you how happy I am to be here…

  It was a letter for me! But why would his words hurt me? What was he trying to say? Did he have feelings for me or not? A huge knot began to form in my stomach, replaced by cramps as I picked up another one. And again, only one sentence.

  Dear Nat,

  I wanted to thank you for taking me into your home…

  I picked up another, and then another, but they were all one-liners. That said absolutely nothing. What had he been trying to say?

  Dear Nat,

  I can’t keep taking advantage of your hospitality…

  Dear Nat,

  I hate myself for doing this to you…

  Dear Nat,

  You must know how much I admire you…

  Dear Nat,

  I hope you will forgive me…

  Forgive you for what? My mind screamed. What have you done that needs my forgiving?

  I sat at his desk, rereading the scraps of paper and trying to put the puzzle together. Connor was trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t understand what it was. And then it dawned on me. He was leaving. Why couldn’t he tell me personally? Unless… was he planning to disappear into thin air?

  ‘Nonsense,’ Maggie said when I cracked and called her for some advice. She should have headed the Agony Aunt department, she was so good with relationship tips. ‘Don’t go thinking dramatic endings.’

  ‘Then what am I supposed to think?’ I demanded. ‘You should have seen those letters. There was no direct message, and yet, the tone was so, so sad! What if something’s happened to him?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know!’

  ‘Have you tried calling him?’

  ‘His mobile phone is off!’

  ‘Nat,’ she said. ‘You need to calm down. He’s probably just writing you a love letter.’

  ‘A love letter? No – love letters begin with things like: My dearest, my sweetheart and all that stuff. There is nothing in these letters about being in love. But there’s bloody fifteen of them. Why would he be writing me something that he could simply tell me over lunch? Unless he can’t simply tell me?’

  ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘That he’s figured out I have feelings for him, but that he’s seeing someone in the village? He did say that love had brought him here. Maybe it really is Felicity, or some other younger woman, and he’s trying to let me down gently?’

  ‘Oh, dear, Nat. I’m sure it’s nothing serious. Try and relax. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. You have to respect that.’

  Easier said than done.

  *

  Later that afternoon, Connor came to lean against my desk as I worked. I can assure you it was utterly distracting as I could smell the freshness of his soap and shampoo. He smelled like his room, fresh and clean, and all I could see again were those letters. This was going to drive me insane.

  ‘You know what you need?’ he said. ‘A distraction.’

  I looked up. ‘A distraction?’

  ‘Exactly. Let’s go for a walk.’

  Had he finally decided to give up writing that letter and tell me in person whatever it was he had been trying to write me? Was he going to tell me that he was involved with someone else, and that he was moving out to be with her? Or had I completely misunderstood, and he did have feelings for me after all, but was a bit shy? Was I ready to hear it, either way? What would my reaction be?

  ‘A walk? But – the girls – my mum—’

  ‘Sarah will be home from work soon.’

  ‘But she might have plans.’

  ‘Then ask her.’

  ‘Just like that? I can’t load—’

  ‘Nat – they’re her family too. She won’t mind. Just ask for once.’

  I thought about it. Surely there’d be no harm in asking for a little help, every now and then? I picked up my phone and dialled Sarah’s number. ‘Hello, love. Are you on your way home?’

  ‘Yes, do you want me to pick something up on the way?’

  ‘No, I just wanted to know if you would babysit the girls – and Nana – for me? Just for a short while.’

  ‘Hot date?’ she said.

  I chuckled as if to say what a silly thought that was. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Okay, no problem. I’ll be there in ten minutes, Mum.’

  ‘Thanks, love,’ I said and hung up. ‘Sorted.’

  Connor grinned. ‘Cool. Now get your walking shoes on.’

  ‘Walking shoes?’ I asked, a little deflated, as if I had been expecting an invitation to dinner. ‘Where are we going?’

  He took my hand. ‘To one of the most beautiful places on earth,’ he said softly, his eyes twinkling.

  When Sarah arrived, her eyebrow shot up at the sight of Connor and I in walking gear.

  ‘When did you discover the great outdoors?’ she quipped, taking in my rucksack.

  ‘Since I had a day like today,’ I quipped back. ‘I’ll tell you later. I need some fresh air. Dinner’s in the oven. Don’t wait for us to eat.’ And we left, leaving Sarah with her blank but at the same time disapproving face.

  The south-west coastal path was a beauty to behold in early summer. The grass-blanketed cliffs rolled out like waves of granite, contrasting with the cobalt sea, outlined by a white, violent foam that sprayed the land. There was nowhere on earth like Cornwall. It was truly a world of its own.

  I took a deep breath and soaked in the salt air, the wind ruffling my hair and the sunshine warming my face and bare arms. It felt good to be out here, far from it all. No problems, no bosses, nothing but me and Cornwall. And Connor, of course.

  ‘Happier now?’ he said softly.

  Happier? This was perfection – my beloved Cornish coast, and a bloke like Connor at my side.

  I wondered if he’d taken me here in this isolated place so his girlfriend wouldn’t see
us, whoever she was. I mean, he disappeared often enough, presumably to spend time with her. But he always slept at home, which I presumed to mean she didn’t have her own place. Was she married? Or, even worse, was she just too young to have her own place? In any case, it was someone from Wyllow Cove. This was such a tiny village, and a gossipy one at that. How could I have absolutely no intel on this at all? Was I not, after all, a journalist? I’d have to get on it, if I wanted to find inner peace.

  ‘Feeling better, then?’ he tried again and I realised I hadn’t answered him.

  ‘Sorry, Connor,’ I said. ‘I’m just trying to not slip.’

  At that, he took my hand and chuckled and a strange feeling of happiness coursed through me. I could have started worrying what and how and why, but decided instead to award myself this moment where we just chilled, and he swung my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Which it wasn’t, for oh so many reasons. But my mind refused to deal with it at the moment, as it only wanted to enjoy the solid, reassuring fingers entwined with mine.

  He said nothing else, just holding my hand as we ambled up and downhill, simply taking in his surroundings with that peaceful expression on his face.

  Down below the village of Wyllow Cove lay nestled in the inlet, sheltered in a glistening bay that protected it from even the worst winter storms. But today, it was glorious.

  ‘Look,’ he suddenly said, shielding his eyes against the sun. ‘A Cornish chough! I haven’t seen one of those in a long time! Did you know that they are featured on the Cornish coat of arms?’

  I looked up, completely clueless.

  He chuckled. ‘Sorry. I’m a bird nerd. I love anything with wings. I used to watch them all the time from my tree house when I was a lad.’

  ‘Oh?’ I said. ‘I know absolutely nothing about birds, though I did once nurse one that had a broken wing for about a month, and when it flew away, I was heartbroken.’

  ‘Is that why you don’t get too attached to things?’ he suddenly asked.

  I stopped in my tracks. ‘Attached?’

  He, too, stopped, still holding my hand. ‘Yes, Nat – attached. I’m hoping that’s the only reason why you—’

  And just then, a gust of wind swept into my face, and my hand shot to my eye as the pain enwrapped it completely.

  ‘Ow… ow…’

  ‘What is it, Nat? Something in your eye?’

  ‘Yuh,’ I barely managed. Oh, God, it hurt!

  He placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘Let me have a look.’

  ‘I can’t – it hurts too much.’

  ‘I promise I can help,’ he said and I removed my hand, my eye staying shut.

  ‘May I?’ he asked, and I nodded.

  Gently, with his index and thumb, he pried my eye open, his other hand under my chin to keep me still, and all I could see was a blurry, wavy image of him as he neared me with puckered lips. Before I knew what he was doing, he was gently blowing into it to dislodge whatever was still in there causing the pain. It hurt, but not as much as before.

  ‘Better?’ he asked softly, still holding my chin as he examined my eye.

  ‘Better, thanks,’ I said, wiping it with my index finger, and we both stood there in silence. But as they say in cheesy moves, our eyes spoke for us, or rather, his did, as I only had one eye to speak with at the moment.

  ‘Nat…’ he said softly, his fingers gently caressing my cheek now.

  Here it was. He was going to tell me about the contents of the letter he’d never written. Was I ready for it?

  ‘Well, fancy bumping into you!’

  I jumped as the familiar voice filled the space between us. Maggie.

  ‘Hallo, pets. Connor! I haven’t seen you for a long time!’ she called as she ambled over to us.

  Well, thank you very much, Maggie. You only went and ruined what could have been a lovely moment. He had almost kissed me, right? Or had I been imagining it all? Or should I actually be grateful? Because I certainly don’t know what I would have done if he had. Thrown my arms around his neck, along with all caution and que será, será? Or gently but firmly pulled away, seeing as he was here for another woman?

  ‘Oh, right. Connor, you remember Maggie.’

  ‘Good to see you again,’ he said cheerfully, holding his other hand out without letting go of mine. I saw Maggie’s eyes dart to our entwined fingers and she grinned broadly.

  ‘Nice to see you, too!’ she answered, pumping his hand up and down like a wrestler. ‘So! How’s living with Nat?’

  He smiled at me. ‘Pure heaven. We get along like a house on fire.’

  Maggie guffawed. ‘I’m sure you do! You single?’

  Not if Felicity could help it.

  At that, he stiffened ever so slightly, but never lost his grin. ‘Uh, for now.’

  She clapped him on the back. ‘So is Nat – so you’d better get on with it. There’s plenty of men wanting to snap this one up. Isn’t that right, Nat?’

  I baulked. ‘Actually, uhm, no.’

  Connor turned to me. ‘I’m sure Nat has a lot of men waiting in line.’

  Just not me, he seemed to want to add, but luckily, he didn’t. That would have been a tad embarrassing for us all.

  ‘Cooeee!’ Maggie chirped. ‘Right! Must dash, I’ve got a dozen cinnamon rolls that have my name on them!’

  ‘Take care,’ Connor said.

  ‘You, too, Connor! I’ll say hi to everyone at The Rising Bun for you,’ she as she sauntered away. ‘And get that letter finished!’ she called over her shoulder.

  I think I must have turned beet red, while all colour drained from his face as we glanced at each other in panic.

  ‘Oh.’ I laughed. ‘She means a letter I’m trying to write my boss!’

  He exhaled, his colour returning. ‘Oh! Right? What kind of letter?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Oh, nothing important – just telling her to get her finger out and clear my position up once and for all. I think it’s awful to leave people hanging, don’t you?’

  At that, he coughed and looked out to sea again. So much for the big reveal.

  11

  Toy Boys and Porky Pies

  And speaking of hanging, I’m assuming you know what four and a half hours of agony are. If you don’t, try taking a train into Paddington Station knowing it’s only to get fired in person. Add the humiliation of having your sacker be half your age. You get the picture.

  By the time I got to the fifth floor of my quasi-former workplace, I was covered in a sheen of sweat. I stopped in the ladies’ just to wash my face and hands, unheeding of the blusher that had already slid off my face somewhere between Plymouth and Taunton, and of the mascara that had caked itself between my lashes, gluing my eyes open like Miss Piggy, even if I was dying for a catnap.

  With nothing left to do, I went into reception where the new PA was tapping away on her keyboard, not even acknowledging me, and I sat down, waiting for my turn to see The Hound.

  Over the space of twenty minutes, three of my colleagues came and went, and when they left – escorted by security, no less – they looked at me with the face of communal disappointment. And when Dave from Graphics came out with a face like the devil and looked my way, he even drew his thumb across his neck in the throat-cut gesture to warn me. We were falling like flies and there was nothing I could do. It was a bloodbath.

  ‘Mrs Amore? Miss Hounslow will see you now,’ the PA said, flicking a red-taloned hand in the direction of the door. As if I didn’t know where the editor-in-chief’s office was. Up to last month, my editor Hilary and I used to spend hours poring over pictures in there because she always wanted my opinion even after Graphics had completed the job. And now look at me – quivering on the edge of my seat, clasping my bag in terror of the ineluctable.

  I eyed the new PA one last time as I took a deep, deep breath. And dived straight in.

  The first thing that hit me was the starkness of the newly painted white walls. Octavia had wasted no time in redecoratin
g. Everything was different – the desk, the chair, and even the carpeting was gone and there were mirrors everywhere. Three colours dominated the room – white, off-white and pearl white. Even her dress was white.

  She gestured to me to sit down as she barked into her white mobile phone.

  I swallowed and waited for her to demolish the poor sod on the other end so she could start on me.

  ‘I said I’m not even remotely interested, Darren!’ she said, rolling her eyes and swivelling her chair around to the wall so her back was to me. Jaw-droppingly rude, to say the least. ‘Now pull your finger out and get on with it!’ Judging by her mood today, this was going to be very ugly.

  Without another word, she rang off and slammed the mobile down onto her glass desk with a ‘Bloody fool! You!’ she barked. ‘Natalia!’

  I jumped despite myself, angry that I let her scare me like that. She was already giving me the sack – what else could she possibly do to me?

  ‘Why didn’t you say you had a sodding toy boy?’

  I gawped at her. The words I beg your pardon? tried to come out, but all I managed was a ‘Huh?’

  ‘Don’t be coy with me, old girl! I know about you and the Adonis! Who is he and where the hell did you find him?’

  I cleared my throat. ‘I’m sorry, Octavia, I don’t understand what you mean?’

  But she was thumbing through her mobile. ‘This is what I mean. Maggie also sent me a video.’

  ‘Video?’ I repeated stupidly.

  ‘Yes, the two of you walking hand in hand,’ she said impatiently – or excitedly. It was difficult to tell the difference with her. ‘Maggie said he’s absolutely delicious and that he’s your brand-new bloke. Is he your toy boy? Spill!’

  Brand-new bloke? Was that what Maggie had thought when she saw me with Connor? Well, judging by the photo where he is gazing into my eyes just before blowing into one of them, his lips just a breath away from mine, it was no wonder they thought what they thought. I’d always told Maggie that she’d be great at handling the Gossip features.