by Jenny Kane
The grin on Abi’s face widened. ‘I am, aren’t I? Assuming nothing goes wrong.’
‘It won’t. I’m not saying it won’t take a while to sort, but it will happen.’ Max gestured to his van, ‘Why don’t I take you up to Land’s End? There’s a nice easy mile-long walk, which Sadie shouldn’t find too much for her elderly canine legs. We can watch the sea for a while.’
‘I’d love that! You sure you have time?’
‘It’s Saturday, I’m not working.’
‘But?’
‘I know I’m in my overalls,’ Max tugged them off over his boots, revealing summer trousers and a short-sleeved checked shirt which made him look more handsome than ever in Abi’s eyes. ‘I thought Stan might want some painting or gardening done or something, so I came equipped.’
Climbing into the van with Sadie, Abi whispered into the retriever’s ear, ‘He’s a good man, that Max Pendale.’
The breeze from the sea was incredibly welcome against the beat of the August sunshine as Max and Abi watched Sadie frolic in the long grass like a puppy.
‘So, do you want to talk about that massive to-do list clogging up your head, or shall I engage you in mindless chatter while you admire the view?’
‘The mindless chatter option.’ Abi stared across the hundred yards of grass that kept them and the dog a safe distance from the sheer drop of the cliffs, and over the sea.
‘Do you know the Legend of the Whooper?’
‘That’s not some local double entendre, is it?’
Max stared down at the top of her head as Abi kept her eyes on a pair of gulls dancing in the air above the cliffs before them. ‘The Whooper of Sennen Cove is a creature that is believed to send a whooping thick mist into the harbour whenever there’s an oncoming storm so that the fishermen can’t go out, and therefore prevents them from getting lost in fog, or their boats wrecked on the waves.’
Encouraged by the laughing smile in his companion’s eyes, Max continued, ‘And can you see over there?’
‘Just! I’m shorter than you, remember.’ Abi stood on her tiptoes in the direction Max was pointing.
‘Well, shortarse, that is Gwenver Beach. It’s really popular with the local surfers. In the past, rather like Sennen Cove itself, it was a base for smugglers to hide out and store their ill-gotten gains.’
Abi stared out in front of her in fascination, her mind full of images of pirates smuggling barrels of rum, and bizarre mythical beasts plucking fishermen from the jaws of certain death in howling storms, as Max continued his heritage lesson.
‘Standing here makes it clear why this region of Cornwall is known as Penwith. Penwith is the Cornish word for extremity. You’d need to travel a long way before you could find a cliffscape more extreme in its rugged beauty than this one.’ Pausing to put Sadie back on her lead so they could start walking in a straight line, Max added, ‘Another time, if you’d like, I could take you for a walk along the Mayon and Trevescan cliffs. Mayon has a cliff castle on it.’
‘Wow, really?’
‘Yep. Mayon or maen is the Cornish word for stone. We won’t take Sadie with us when we do that though, as it’s a sheer drop from the top of the cliff. Well worth a look, on a good day you can see basking sharks in the sea from there.’
‘It’s a date.’
‘Is it? A date I mean, not just two friends having a walk?’
Replying by way of a nod, Abi asked, so quietly that Max only just heard her over the hum of the cliff breeze, ‘Is Abbey’s House really going to be mine, Max?’
‘If you can afford it, and you genuinely want it, then yes.’
They walked in companionable silence for a while, until they reached a bench and Abi sat down, partly to give Sadie’s legs a rest, but partly because, with Max by her side, and the sea stretching out so reassuringly before her, she knew she was strong enough to listen to the messages Simon had left on her mobile.
Asking Max if he minded her polluting the peace and quiet with her phone, Abi felt even better when he tucked her under his shoulder. She was protected by Max’s solid torso from whatever vileness Simon could pour into her ear, and there was a gorgeous-smelling shoulder to cry on if necessary.
Her mouth dry, Abi pressed the button that would relay her messages. As she’d anticipated, the first of the three messages Simon had sent her was full of recriminations for standing him up at the coffee shop, and from the sound of it, had probably been made while he was still sitting there expecting her to turn up.
‘You OK?’ Max hadn’t liked how pale Abi had gone as she listened.
‘Apparently I’m an “ungrateful social climber” and, and I quote, “quite possibly an adulterous harlot who obviously never loved her husband and can’t be trusted.”’
‘Well that’s rich, coming from the man who propositioned his recently dead brother’s wife and then committed a con trick against an estate agent.’
Although the accusations of adultery had hit home, hearing Max’s response took the sting out of Simon’s words a little, as Abi moved onto message number two. ‘This one was sent a couple of hours later.’
Listening hard so she could hear above the sound of the sea, wriggling deeper into the comfort of Max’s arm, Abi heard a more defensive Simon speaking. ‘I have had a call from Nigel Davison. You will not believe what that idiot told me. God knows what sort of communication breakdown they had, but I never pretended to be Luke. As if I’d do that to my own brother! I understand now why you weren’t at the café. Obviously I intend to sue for defamation. I hope you are being sensible and holding out for the full price if you still insist on selling? Living there yourself would be much more sensible, of course.’
Thinking hard as she replayed the message for Max to hear, she found she wasn’t at all surprised that Simon was denying all knowledge. ‘He won’t really sue them, will he?’
Max held her hand tighter. ‘No chance. He’d lose face.’
Abi smiled, grateful for his common sense, ‘Of course. That would not be a possibility worth consideration for Simon. He’s just trying to win my sympathy, isn’t he? Luke always said Simon never could take responsibility for his actions.’
‘I did notice he never actually said sorry.’
Playing the third message, Abi laughed out loud ‘Here, listen to this.’ She put the speakerphone on and turned up the volume. ‘This one is about four hours later. Mr Davidson was obviously keen for no more damage to be done to his reputation!’
‘Abi, where the hell are you? I’m at Luke’s house, and the bloody keys don’t work. What have you done? This is outrageous! I’m thinking of contesting the will. There is no way my brother would have wanted you to exclude his family like this.’
Max shook his head in disbelief. ‘The man is raving! He’s unhinged.’
Rather than feel panicked, as she suspected she would have done if she’d listened to the message when alone, Abi found that Simon’s bluster and emotional blackmail didn’t work on her anymore. Not with Max keeping her tucked under his arm the whole time. Even so, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, ‘You don’t think he will contest the will, do you? I mean, it’s a bit late, everything was sorted ages ago.’
‘He’s just being all piss and wind. Ignore him!’
‘Good advice! Although I can’t help wondering why he’s so keen for me to live there still. It makes no sense. One minute he wants me to move in with him and rent the property, then the next he wants me living in it.’
‘Well I suspect, and I may be wrong …’
‘But you doubt it?’
‘But I doubt it. That if you were still there he could work on you coming around to his way of thinking. Then, in time you might give in, move in with him, and he could use the vast monthly rent he’d make from your house to fund whatever he had planned in … Oxford, was it?’
‘That’s the place he mentioned, but I guess we’ll never know for sure.’
Sadie rose to her paws, obviously feeling rested enough to toddle
slowly back the way they’d come. Reluctantly leaving the comfort of Max’s shoulder, Abi got up as well. ‘I think we’re being told something.’
‘Looks like it.’ Max patted Sadie’s flank affectionately, ‘Ready to go home, old girl?’
Sadie wagged her tail enthusiastically. ‘I think we should take that as a yes.’
Feeling a huge sense of relief that she had faced up to Simon’s messages, Abi knew she’d still have to phone him, or he’d just keep calling – or worse still, turn up again. Although if he had any sense he wouldn’t set foot in Cornwall again. The reception he’d get from her friends would not be a welcoming one.
Following Sadie back down to the beach, Abi knew there was one more thing she couldn’t put off saying. ‘Max?’
‘It’s OK, I know, and I understand.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes. You’re wary about us going too fast. Simon may talk a load of rubbish, but he hit a nerve with that adulteress dig, didn’t he?’
‘Sorry, Max, but yes, he did. I’d hate anyone to think that of me. And it is so soon after Luke. I wasn’t exactly happy with him, but I did love him, you know, when he was being him and not all high society social climber-ish.’
‘I know, and it’s alright. As I said, I understand. I should warn you, however, that every now and then I might just have to hold your hand or cuddle you, and it is unlikely that I’ll be able to go too much longer without kissing you again. I may be kind, but my patience is not infinite when it comes to beautiful women.’
Abi giggled. ‘Is that so?’
Max faked solemnity, ‘I felt it fair I should warn you.’
‘Then I think it is fair that I should warn you,’ Abi attempted to copy his grave expression, ‘that I will be requiring a great deal of hand-holding, hugs, and, indeed, several of those kisses you are so good at but are reluctant to give out. It’s just, as my dad used to rather euphemistically call it, “the second course” that I can’t offer you just yet. I want to, but I can’t. Not yet. I’m not quite ready. Would you settle for taking me to the local pub quiz instead?’
Max laughed. ‘A poor replacement compared to a “second course”, but I’d love to. Now come here. I’m going to prove to you that I am not in the least bit reluctant about anything.’
By the time they’d finished kissing, Sadie was looking extremely bored.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Sitting in the garden of the First and Last pub in Sennen, Beth took advantage of the fact that Jacob had gone to fetch them drinks and a menu. She flipped open his portfolio and examined his work without her gaze feeling the irresistible need to stray towards his face every few seconds.
Beth knew she was behaving like a lovestruck teenager, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. And she had a sneaky suspicion, or possibly a chronic case of wishful thinking, that the feeling was mutual. Jacob had certainly met her gaze enough times accidentally-on-purpose to pique her interest.
He’s probably like this with anyone female, she told herself as she studied his photos again. It’s been so long since I fancied anyone that wasn’t in a movie that I’ve forgotten how to read the signs.
The images of his work looked even better in the natural light of the sun than they had in the gallery. Still not quite able to believe that Jacob was actually there, with her, in Cornwall, about to agree to exhibit his work in her almost finished gallery, and that he was even more gorgeous than she’d hoped, Beth felt a touch of guilt.
She hadn’t told Abi that she’d emailed Jacob on the strength of his website photo alone. It had only been when he’d confirmed he was interested in seeing the gallery that Beth had, with her fingers firmly crossed, checked to make sure his pottery was as professional-looking as his website.
Now, having spent some time with Jacob, Beth could finally swallow her guilt at her lack of professionalism. Her instincts had been spot on, even if they had been initially led by lustful fantasies about his body and not by the calibre of his work.
‘What do you think?’
Beth hadn’t heard Jacob walk up behind her across the grass, and gave a little shriek of alarm. ‘Sorry, I was so engrossed. These are incredible. I’d love to see them in real life.’
‘Thank you.’ Rather than sitting down on the bench on the opposite side of the table, Jacob sat next to Beth so he could guide her through his portfolio.
Wondering how the hell she was supposed to concentrate when Jacob was so close to her, Beth clutched hold of her glass of lager and forced herself to get a grip. This is ridiculous, woman. You’re a professional, and just because your lust chip has been activated, that is no reason to let it take over! Concentrate!
‘What sort of size pieces are you interested in?’
Keeping her eyes fixed on the photographs before her, Beth said, ‘A variety. I thought a few small pots that could be sold for what most people would consider birthday or Christmas present-type prices, and then some more exclusive unique pieces which we wouldn’t necessarily sell, but would act as good marketing items for both you and me.’
Pleased with her speech, Beth took refuge in a long draught of her drink, and watched Jacob’s fingers smooth the page that was open before them. She couldn’t help noticing that although his hands had obviously been scrubbed clean, there were tiny traces of grey clay beneath his fingernails that betrayed his craft. Beth found herself wondering if they ever went away entirely.
‘Sounds good.’ Jacob turned to the very back of the portfolio and showed Beth a collection of pictures she hadn’t seen before.
‘Wow!’ Her eyes widened. She longed to touch these pots, to run her fingers along their rims and down their sides. ‘Pots’ didn’t do these creations justice. They were of epic proportions, and she found herself wondering if Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves would pop out of them at any moment. ‘We have to have some of these at the gallery! However did you fit them in a kiln to fire them?’
Jacob laughed, ‘It was a nightmare. After I’d made the first one I vowed I’d never do another. But once it was fired and varnished, it just screamed out for a partner, and then another and, well … I’ve sold a few now, so I will be doing more.’
‘How much do you charge for them?’
Jacob repeated the figure three times before Beth got hold of the idea that she was looking at a pot worth three thousand pounds. ‘Seriously?’
‘I can only fire one of them at a time, you see. When I make smaller items I can stack the kiln space right up, and so the production time and costs are lower. Then once it’s fired, which takes a very long time on something so large, with such thick walls, then it has to be finished off. It’s the time it takes that I’m charging for.’
‘And your skill. I mean, look, I could just wrap my arms around them.’ And you. Beth squashed down the unhelpful thought and added, ‘Are you interested in exhibiting with us for a while, then? You don’t sound as though you need to.’
‘Definitely. My studio attracts the odd passing tourist, and I have pieces for sale in a few London galleries, not to mention a couple of my mugs and “Welcome to Cornwall” egg cups and stuff in some tourist shops, but I need to expand my profile. Let’s face it: pottery like this is a luxury. These days people have more important things to buy! If I’m going to survive, then I have to ensure that the people who do have the money for such treats know I exist in the first place. Galleries are the best way to do that.’
Beth played with the edge of the plastic-coated menu that lay on the table next to her, ‘And you’re sure you want to be our first artist? I mean, word hasn’t got round yet. It could be that no one turns up.’
‘As long as I don’t have to be there all of the time, that I get full rein with presentation, and I get to book in ahead to be the artist in residence next July, then you are on!’
‘You drive a hard bargain, Mr Denny!’
Jacob turned his emerald eyes on Beth, ‘That’s not the only thing I drive hard, Miss Philips.’
Beth’s
stomach did a back flip. With a lump in her throat, not meeting her companion’s eyes, she took refuge in her desire for food. ‘Are you hungry?’
Jacob winked, dissolving her embarrassment. ‘You have no idea! I’d like some food too. Toasted sandwich?’
‘How about “A Load of Old Cobblers”?’
Beth dug Jacob in the ribs as they waited in the gallery for the electrician to come and sort out her new lighting rig. ‘That is the worst name for a gallery ever!’
‘Trust me, I’ve seen far worse.’
They were sat in the middle of the floor. Beth was showing Jacob the pictures from her schoolchildren. ‘I would like the name to pay some sort of homage to Grandad, though.’
‘He meant a lot to you?’
‘Everything. He was the best man ever. Everyone thought I was mad to give up on having the chance of a husband and family to be his carer, but there was never any question as far as I was concerned.’
‘Well it’s hardly too late for you to get married or have kids, is it?’
‘No, but then I didn’t know how long he was going to live for at the time, did I?’
‘True enough.’ Jacob picked up a picture of a little girl building a sandcastle and smiled as he asked, ‘Don’t answer this if it is too personal, but was there someone who would have been your husband by now if you hadn’t looked after your grandad?’
‘Oh, that is personal.’
‘I said it was.’
Beth shrugged. ‘There could have been. I was never sure, which I guess tells me all I needed to know. We’d dated for about a year, but he was settled in a teaching job in Bristol and didn’t want to move down here, and neither of us wanted a long-distance relationship, so that was that.’
‘I see. And no one since?’
‘Not for the last three years, and then nothing that lasted for long. Mostly tourists that were here one minute and gone the next. How about you?’ Beth found herself asking a question she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to in case it was accompanied by a great deal of disappointment. ‘Is there a Mrs Denny lurking in Pendeen or Hayle or Westbury?’
