* * *
There was no sign of Orla when Tess and Simon went to bed around ten thirty.
‘I hope she’s all right,’ Tess said. ‘After all, we know nothing about him.’
‘For God’s sake,’ said Simon, who was trying to get to sleep, ‘she’s a grown woman! We know his name and where he comes from and, if you’re out on a date and you’re single, this isn’t exactly late. Now, go to sleep!’
An hour later Tess was still awake. Then she heard a car drive up, some voices, a car door closing and then it drove away. She sighed with relief and finally got to sleep.
In the morning Orla appeared at nine o’clock. ‘Just some coffee and a slice of toast,’ she said.
‘So?’ said Tess.
‘So what?’
‘Don’t make out you don’t know what I’m talking about! How did the date go? Are you seeing him again?’
Orla sipped her coffee and smiled. ‘It went fine.’
‘And…?’
‘And, yes, I’m seeing him again. He said he might even come up to London, but he’s hoping I’ll come back soon. Thing is, he’s converting this barn and living in a bloody caravan! What is it with caravans in this place? I told him about Buckingham Palace.’
‘Windsor Castle.’
‘Whatever. Anyway, can I come down and stay in the royal residence again in a couple of weeks’ time?’
‘Of course you can,’ Tess replied. ‘But you may find that his caravan is superior, it might even be plumbed in to mains drainage! Now, we’re going to have to leave shortly if you ever have a hope of getting that train.’
‘Aw, don’t worry, Tess. Danny’ll be here in around twenty minutes to take me to the station. We’ll have a good chat on the phone when I get home.’
31
A LATE AWAKENING
Celia hadn’t taken the time or the care with this painting as she had with the first one. She’d rushed to get it finished and done with, and given to Jackie as she’d very stupidly promised. She’d felt sorry for the silly woman and the gesture had been spontaneous, if misguided. But the strange thing was that this painting was a great improvement on its predecessor, even though she’d dashed it off quickly. That was possibly why; perhaps she should spend less time fiddling around with details and just let the colours flow. She might even do another one for herself, although she was becoming a little tired of this particular spot where Jackie came to disturb her half a dozen times a day. If she heard Jackie’s sing-song voice saying, ‘Ooh, isn’t that coming on lovely!’ one more time, she’d scream.
She didn’t dislike Jackie. You couldn’t really dislike Jackie, because she was like an eager puppy, desperate for everyone’s approval and affection. Whatever kind of a marriage had the poor woman endured? If only she dressed more appropriately for her age instead of forcing those chunky thighs of hers into ridiculously short shorts, and exposing most of her bosoms. ‘Common’, Mummy would have called her. Celia wondered for a moment what Mummy would have made of Titania. Words would probably have failed her and words didn’t fail Mummy very often. She smiled to herself.
Celia liked it here, though. She liked The Sparrows’ Nest and the fact that Tess and Simon were always around if you wanted them but they never interfered or asked questions. And, apart from Jackie, she only saw the other two guests in the evenings, neither of whom were very interested in her. Hopefully Jackie would be gone in another week or two. Who would be the next guest in Room 4?
Celia wondered if she should be thinking of moving on, too. But where? She’d developed a mild passion for the sea, perhaps as an antidote to a lifetime in the Midlands. She’d rather like to spend her final years looking at it and enjoying all its moods.
She was sitting back studying her painting when she heard the shout close by. This was followed by some groaning. What on earth…? Celia stood up and edged round the gorse and there, just above her on the path, was a man on his bottom, rubbing his ankle.
‘Oh, shit!’ he said, staring at his phone.
She walked up to where he was sitting. ‘There’s no need for that sort of language round here!’ she snapped.
He glared back at her and said, ‘I’m sorry but I think I may have broken my ankle.’ He waved his phone in the air. ‘And my phone needs recharging.’
‘How very irresponsible,’ Celia said. ‘And, since I don’t have a phone with me, I’m afraid I can’t help.’
As she turned to walk away she heard his groans and gasps of breath, and he said, ‘I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk. Would you be able to get in touch with someone for me? The ambulance service? Do you suppose they’d be able to find me here?’
He was a big man, balding, with piercing blue eyes and wearing the usual walking kit of T-shirt, shorts, sturdy walking boots and a waterproof jacket tied round his waist. And, on the ground beside him, a large backpack. Celia reckoned he was probably around her own age.
‘Unlikely,’ she replied, a little disconcerted by his stare. She’d never seen such intense eyes.
He was trying to stand up on one leg without much success. ‘Perhaps I can slide down the hill on my bottom.’
Celia sighed. Her peaceful afternoon appeared to be at an end. If it wasn’t one thing – Jackie – it was another, this wretched man with the blue eyes. ‘I’ll pack up my things,’ she sighed, ‘and go to find help. What did you do anyway – trip over your own feet?’
‘I got my foot caught in a bramble,’ he replied. ‘And I’m really sorry to be such a nuisance.’
His smile disarmed her for a moment and the sensation surprised her. And then Jackie appeared. ‘Oh, Celia! There you are! I was worried for a minute when I saw your stuff but no sign of you.’
‘No need to worry,’ Celia said shortly. ‘I was just interrupted by this man who appears to have injured his ankle.’
‘Oh, you poor man!’ Jackie said looking at Celia’s intruder. ‘Can you put any weight on it at all?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ he replied. ‘I was just wondering if I could slide down on my bottom.’
‘It’s very steep,’ Jackie said. ‘But look, Celia and I can help you down to the beach and then we can phone for an ambulance.’
‘You’re very kind,’ he said, looking from one to the other. ‘My name’s Arthur Mitchell, but everyone calls me Mitch.’
‘Well, I’m Jackie and this here’s Celia. Now, if we can get you up, and you put an arm round each of our shoulders, we can get you down, can’t we, Celia?’
Mitch was looking at Celia. ‘What a charming name! You remind me of someone but I can’t think who that might be.’ Then he groaned again as he got awkwardly to his feet.
‘Get your painting things, Celia,’ Jackie ordered, ‘and I’ll carry half of them for you.’
Celia said nothing but went round the corner to pack up her paints and checked that her masterpiece was dry before she packed it away, along with her folded-up easel.
‘If you put an arm round each of our shoulders, Mitch, we should get you down in no time,’ said Jackie, picking up Celia’s box of paints.
Celia grabbed the rest herself, leaving one side clear to support this man down the slope. She stiffened for a moment as a hairy masculine arm found its way round her shoulders. With Jackie supporting his other side the three took some tentative steps forward. It was a steep and narrow path and Celia was afraid of slipping. With care she managed to keep her footing, but her emotions were in turmoil. She had never been in such proximity to a man in all her adult life. Never. It was not altogether an unpleasant experience. She’d thought he might be sweaty, but he smelled quite fragrant.
When they finally got down to the beach Jackie said brightly, ‘I’m sure Celia wouldn’t mind taking you to the local hospital for an X-ray, would you, Celia?’
How could she refuse? There was a moment’s silence before Mitch said, ‘That would be great but I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.’
What could she say? She could ask Jacki
e to phone for an ambulance but that could take hours to arrive, particularly as his injury wasn’t life-threatening. And they couldn’t very well leave him sitting here by the roadside. With a sigh Celia said, ‘OK, wait here and I’ll go get the car. Can you look after my painting stuff for me?’
‘You’re an angel,’ the man named Mitch called after her. No one had ever called Celia an angel before – at this particular moment, she wasn’t feeling at all angelic.
Twenty minutes later, having trudged up Seagull Hill and found her car keys, she was back down at the roadside in her car, and Jackie was helping the man into the passenger seat.
‘There you are!’ she said, patting his shoulder, ‘Celia will look after you now!’ And, with a wave, she was gone.
Celia turned reluctantly to face her passenger, avoiding the eyes which so disconcerted her, and concentrated on his nose instead.
‘Hey,’ he said, ‘this is a great car! But I hope the hospital’s not too far away because I know I’ve wrecked your afternoon.’
You certainly have, thought Celia. ‘No, it’s not far,’ she said. ‘There’s a cottage hospital just about ten miles away.’
They drove along in silence for a few minutes, and then she felt she needed to break the silence.
‘Do you do a lot of walking?’ she asked.
‘It’s an annual indulgence,’ he replied. ‘I aim to do a certain stretch of the coastal path each year, but I can see I’m not going to be doing much more this time, although I have a couple of days left.’
‘That’s a shame. Do you always walk alone?’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I’ve become a bit of a loner ever since my wife died eight years ago. Are you married, Celia?’
‘No,’ she said shortly, ‘never have been.’ She stared straight ahead as she accelerated up the hill.
‘Ah,’ he said. Then, a few seconds later, ‘I assume you’re retired?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Me, too. I was in the police, made it to Detective Inspector. Birmingham.’
Celia’s blood ran cold. She had to get rid of this man as soon as possible.
‘What did you do?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I worked in an office,’ she said.
‘And now you’re a painter?’
‘Well, I try; it’s only a hobby. Here we are!’ Celia managed to park close to the door by waiting for another car to pull out. She had no idea how she was going to get him into the accident and emergency department.
‘I may have to put my arm round you again, Celia,’ he said, and she could hear the tease in his voice, ‘while I hobble to the door.’
At the exact time when Celia could feel a blush coming on, she saw a wheelchair near the entrance. ‘Just a minute!’ she said, making a dash out of the car door. She could see a large woman heading towards her goal and so she ran, for the first time in years, and grabbed it just in time.
‘I was going to have that,’ the woman barked at her.
‘Well, you aren’t now,’ said Celia, surprised at her own boldness. The woman said something derogatory, but Celia didn’t wait to determine what it was as she dashed back to the car.
‘You can certainly move,’ said the man called Mitch as he climbed into the chair.
‘Needs must,’ she said shortly, pushing him towards the entrance.
As expected the department was busy. Someone would be with him as soon as possible.
Celia sighed. She could be here for hours, but she couldn’t very well abandon him now. ‘Where will you be staying?’ she asked him.
‘In my tent, I expect,’ he replied. ‘Occasionally I treat myself to a B&B, but mostly I just erect my tent somewhere near a half-decent pub where I can get a drink and something to eat.’
‘How very uncomfortable.’
‘Not at all. I sleep very well under canvas; probably comes a result of having been a Boy Scout.’
Just then a nurse appeared and called out, ‘Arthur Mitchell?’
As he got up and hobbled towards her, the nurse added, ‘Would your wife like to come in, too?’
His wife! Celia was mortified and felt the most fearsome blush coming on.
‘I am not his wife!’ she snapped. ‘I just rescued him from the coastal path, and I shall wait right here!’ She could see the nurse looking embarrassed and this Mitch character suppressing laughter. What was so funny? She wished she could drive off and leave him to it. She yawned and leafed through some dreadful women’s magazine, wondering who on earth would read this stuff. ‘My husband has run off with my sister!’ was highlighted on the cover. ‘Read all about it inside!’ Celia wished she’d brought her book. She’d just got to an article about a fifty-five-year-old woman who’d given birth to triplets when Mitch came limping towards her with his foot bandaged.
‘Good news!’ he proclaimed. ‘My ankle’s not broken, just badly sprained. They’ve bandaged it up really firmly and dosed me with some painkillers. Now I’m supposed to keep my foot up as much as possible, and rest it.’
‘And how are you going to be able to do that?’
‘I don’t know. Is there a little B&B round here?’
Celia shrugged. ‘The Portmerryn Arms let out a few rooms, I think. We could try them.’ She prayed they had a vacancy so she could leave him there.
They didn’t. Jed shook his head sadly. ‘Both rooms gone ’alf an hour ago, family of four.’
Mitch looked crestfallen. ‘Where are you staying, Celia?’
‘Oh, it’s a guesthouse, just up the hill, but I know that all the rooms are currently occupied.’
‘Are you sure they haven’t an extra room somewhere?’ He looked so worried that she began to feel a little sorry for him. Not only that, her heart gave an unexpected flutter.
‘Well, OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll take you there although I don’t think they do. But they’re sure to know of somewhere in the area.’ This man was disturbing her for some reason and she was now ready to drive him anywhere just to see the back of him.
‘This really is a great car,’ he said again, as they turned up Seagull Hill. ‘What’s its top speed?’
‘No idea,’ Celia said, glancing at the speedometer. ‘A hundred and something. But I never take it above fifty, sixty sometimes on the motorway.’ She decided not to mention the occasion when it had inadvertently registered eighty without her knowing.
‘Go on, Celia, admit it! You must have done a ton down the motorway somewhere!’
‘I’m not in the habit of breaking the law,’ she said primly. Not in a car anyway. She mustn’t forget this man was a policeman.
‘I’m not in the police now, Celia! And even the cops speed sometimes! Don’t you do anything naughty?’
Celia didn’t reply but pulled into a parking space outside The Sparrows’ Nest.
‘This looks very upmarket,’ he said as he got out of the car.
Celia prayed that either Tess or Simon would be around somewhere and not having an afternoon siesta. As luck would have it Simon was on the telephone in the hall. As he hung up he said, ‘Hi, Celia!’
‘Good afternoon, Simon. Er, I’ve just rescued this gentleman who’s sprained his ankle badly on the coastal path and he needs to rest up for a few days. I don’t suppose you have an extra room tucked away anywhere?’
Simon shook his head. ‘I’m really sorry, but I’m afraid we don’t.’
‘I didn’t think so,’ Celia said. ‘Do you know of any B&Bs in this area?’
‘Only the pub. Have you tried down there?’
Celia shook her head. ‘All booked. I don’t know what to do with him.’ Then she realised that Mitch was right behind her.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘I have my tent and perhaps I could park round here somewhere? They’re forecasting rain tonight so I’d like to be somewhere sheltered if possible. Have you anywhere in your grounds, and I would, of course, pay?’
Simon thought for a moment. ‘I don’t see why not,’ he said. ‘But why don’t you sit out on our terra
ce for a moment and I’ll bring you and Celia something to drink. Tea? Coffee? Something stronger? You need to keep that foot up.’ They both agreed on tea.
Celia could see no means of escape without being rude. ‘Come this way,’ she instructed her guest, relieved to see there was no sign of Jackie or anyone on the terrace.
‘Wow!’ he said. ‘What a view! And what a wisteria!’
‘Do you like gardening, then?’ Celia asked.
‘Yes, I do. Do you?’
Celia thought about Mummy’s predilection for camellias. ‘We only had a small garden,’ she said, ‘and Mum— my mother had a thing about camellias. We had camellias everywhere.’
‘They can be tricky things to grow,’ he declared. ‘I hope she had more luck with them than I did. But you haven’t answered my question. Do you like gardening?’
‘I’ve never had much time. But I do fancy growing my own vegetables one day, and being self-sufficient.’ Now why had she told him that?
‘So you live in the countryside?’
Be vague. Don’t tell him where you’ve been living. ‘I’m planning to move,’ she said. ‘I don’t quite know where yet.’ And I wouldn’t be telling you if I did.
‘Very enterprising. I imagine you’re quite a clever lady, Celia.’
You’ve no idea just how clever I was, thought Celia. As Simon appeared with a tray of tea and some of those delicious biscuits made with Cornish cream, she asked, ‘Did you catch many criminals?’
‘Oh, just a few, here and there.’ He grinned at her. ‘One or two managed to escape me.’
She noticed how his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and he smiled a lot, although she couldn’t see what was so amusing.
‘I’ll show you where to pitch your tent,’ Simon said, ‘and give you a hand to erect it.’
‘Thanks so much. I’m Mitch, by the way.’
‘Simon Sparrow.’ They smiled at each other and shook hands. ‘I’ll give you a key to our laundry room because there’s a toilet in there.’
‘Great, thanks.’ Then, ‘Would you mind if I went down to that pub this evening?’ Mitch said as Simon went back inside. ‘I could murder a few pints and grab something to eat while I’m there.’
The Golden Oldies Guesthouse (ARC) Page 21
