by Liz Eeles
‘The ones with ridiculously small second bedrooms?’
‘That’s the ones. She guaranteed to the buyers that you could get a double bed in there, though I don’t suppose you can.’
‘So she lied, basically.’
‘She was economical with the truth, Rosie,’ laughed Matt. ‘There’s a difference.’
Not one that Rosie could see, but she’d had this argument with Matt before and couldn’t face rehashing it right now.
‘I had some surprising news today,’ she told him. ‘It looks like the Eppings hope to knock down Driftwood House and build a hotel in its place.’
‘Wow.’ She heard him catch his breath.
‘I know. That’s how I felt.’
He whistled down the line. ‘That is one hell of a good idea. The house is past it, from what you’ve said, but the views are great, right? It sounds like the perfect place for a bijou hotel that charges the earth.’
OK, that really wasn’t how she felt.
‘I’m quite upset, actually,’ she said, quietly.
‘Aw, of course you are, but you have to approach it from a business point of view, rather than emotional overload.’
‘Do I?’
‘You know it makes sense. Mind you, anyone with half a brain holidays abroad these days, but I guess some people prefer a staycation.’
‘Loads of tourists visit Heaven’s Cove every year. It’s a jewel in Devon’s crown.’
That was taken directly from a tourist brochure Rosie had come across while searching the hall cupboard for a will. She hadn’t found one.
Matt sniffed. ‘Jewel or not, it’s still Devon we’re talking about, not the Costa del Sol.’
‘Devon has its own unique charm.’
‘If you insist. But what a crying shame you don’t actually own the house or you’d be minted. I just cannot believe that your mother didn’t tell you—’
‘Me neither,’ said Rosie, cutting Matt off before he could exclaim once again over her mum’s secrecy. ‘If I owned the house, I don’t think I’d sell it anyway.’
‘You’re kidding, right? You’d sell it for a small fortune and come back to Spain with enough money to set us up in our own business. Carruthers and Merchant, Property Consultants. I can see it now.’
Surely it should be Merchant and Carruthers, if she was the partner with all the cash? And if she actually came into a small fortune, she’d rather open a cosy B&B in the mountains than try to flog property. Rosie shook her head. There was no point in getting peeved.
‘I found something weird when I was looking at the funeral flowers,’ she said, keen to move the subject on from money.
‘Like I said, that’s a bit ghoulish, Rosie.’
‘It was comforting, actually, seeing all the nice things that people have said about Mum. But there was something odd. There were some flowers and a card from someone who referred to Mum as “Saffy” and signed the card “J”.’
‘Saffy?’ laughed Matt. ‘What kind of name is Saffy?’
‘It was Mum’s pet name and no one, except my dad and my grandparents, ever knew it or used it.’
‘The mystery deepens. Perhaps secretive Saffy had a toy boy on the go,’ snorted Matt.
‘It’s not funny.’
‘No, I know it’s not, babe,’ said Matt, suddenly serious. ‘It’s all really upsetting for you. But at least now the funeral’s over, you can come home and things can go back to normal.’
Normal? That was a concept Rosie couldn’t imagine right now. Only a few days had passed since she’d left Spain, but she felt like a different person already. Sadder, thinner – she couldn’t be bothered to cook for one in Driftwood House’s big old kitchen – and more unsettled. She’d thought that she and her mum were close, in spite of the miles between them. She’d thought her mum had told her everything important that she needed to know. But she’d thought wrong.
‘Are you still there, Rosie?’
‘Yeah, I’m still here.’
‘I think the connection’s a bit dodgy so I’ll get back to work, but keep your chin up and I can’t wait to see you again soon.’
‘You too. I need you,’ said Rosie, biting her lip the moment the words were out. Matt hated clingy women.
‘I explained why I couldn’t make it over for the funeral, babe.’
‘Yeah, of course. That’s fine. That’s not what I meant. I don’t know what I meant really.’
‘Well, just get back over here as soon as you can. Gotta go ’cos Carmen needs my help again. Love you.’
‘Love you, t— oh.’ The connection had already been severed.
Rosie sat, lost in thought, as the sun climbed higher in the sky and damp seeped from the grass through her jeans. The mysterious J wasn’t Jerry, but could it be Jackson Porter? The solicitor didn’t seem Mum’s type but he was very upset about her death. What was it he’d said in his office? Your mother was very dear to me, Rosie.
‘Hey, are you thinking of flying?’
Rosie turned her head, to see Nessa puffing along the clifftop towards her, in grey shorts and a blue T-shirt.
‘I haven’t booked my flight back to Spain yet,’ she called, as Nessa got closer.
‘That wasn’t what I meant. You’re very close to the edge and the rock can be a bit crumbly. I don’t want you doing a nose-dive.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be fine,’ said Rosie, but she sat up and shuffled back from the edge nonetheless. ‘Are you out for a walk?’
‘Just blowing away the cobwebs before another shift at Shelley’s. I drop Lily off with my gran in Heaven’s Brook and walk over the cliff to work as long as it’s not pouring down.’
‘Wouldn’t it be quicker to drive?’
‘Definitely, if I had a car. Jake took that when he moved out, so I take her to Gran’s on the bus and then walk back.’
‘Jake?’
‘Lily’s dad. He was a moron so I didn’t much care.’ Vanessa sniffed in a way that made Rosie think she did care, very much indeed. ‘Anyway, how are things going for you?’
‘Oh, you know.’
‘Yeah, I can imagine.’
Nessa plonked herself down on the grass and turned her face towards the sky. Her nose was already sprinkled with freckles and her skin was lightly tanned, with an orange tinge.
‘What do you reckon?’ asked Nessa, pointing at her bare legs. ‘It’s out of a bottle – Saharan Chic. Not the real deal, like yours. I bet it’s really hot in Spain even at this time of year.’
‘It’ll be nudging twenty-four degrees today.’
‘Nice.’
‘The heat gets a bit much in the summer, to be honest. I sometimes feel like I’m going to melt.’
‘It’s got to be better than a dreary English summer, though.’
‘Usually, though I still sometimes dream of Devon drizzle.’
Nessa looked unconvinced, but it was true. Rosie sometimes imagined standing outside Driftwood House in a damp force eight gale when the Andalusian sun was beating down in August. And when the thermometer hit the mid-thirties, she liked to picture a chill sea mist rolling in and blanketing Heaven’s Cove.
‘Jake and I went to Spain once, before we got married,’ said Nessa, shielding her eyes against the sun. ‘He got pissed and fell asleep on the beach. Looked like a lobster for days.’
‘When did you and Jake…?’
Rosie stopped, not wanting to pry, but Nessa smiled, good-naturedly. ‘Split up? Oh, ages ago when Lily was still a baby. He was a bit overwhelmed by the whole parenting thing. Still is.’ She snorted and pushed her hands through her brown hair. ‘Jake’s a bit of a lightweight. My gran was right about him. Have you got a partner?’
‘Yeah, my boyfriend lives in Málaga.’
‘Lucky you, going out with a drop-dead gorgeous Spaniard.’
‘Matt’s from London, actually, but he is gorgeous.’
Rosie thought back to her mum’s first and only meeting with Matt. What was it she’d said about him in that
noisy continental bar? He’s very good-looking in an overly groomed kind of way. Rosie, in the first flush of romance, had been miffed by her mum’s criticism but also rather thrilled because Matt was extremely handsome, and he was going out with her. Over the last few months, their romance had grown into more than just a fling. He loved her and was definitely missing her.
Nessa sniffed. ‘What’s happening about the house, then? Are you going to move in for a while?’
‘I can’t.’
‘Because you need to get back to exotic, far-away Andalusia?’ Nessa really was being sarcastic now.
‘That, and the house is going to be demolished.’
‘You can’t knock down Driftwood House!’ Nessa sat up straight and squinted into the sun at Rosie. ‘That house has watched over Heaven’s Cove for ages. It’s like a local… sentinel, making sure that the village is safe.’
Rosie smiled at Nessa’s imagination. The thought of Driftwood House keeping a watchful eye on Heaven’s Cove and its inhabitants was strangely comforting. ‘You obviously haven’t heard Belinda’s latest rumour?’
‘I try not to listen to all the chatter that goes round Heaven’s Cove, seeing as I’m the subject of it often enough. So what’s the gossip grapevine saying now?’
‘The last thing I want is for Driftwood House to be knocked down but talk in the village is that Charles Epping does, and he’d like to build a hotel in its place.’
‘He can’t do that! Refuse to sell him the house and tell him to get stuffed.’
‘Sadly, I can’t do that.’
‘Why not? Someone else less horrible will buy the house, as a home or a business venture. It’s a bit dilapidated these days but its location is amazing.’
‘I can’t sell the house because it doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to Charles Epping and, thanks to Belinda, you’re probably the only person within a ten-mile radius who doesn’t know that.’
Nessa’s eyes opened wide. ‘I thought Driftwood House belonged to your mum.’
‘Yeah, me too. But it belongs to the Epping family and it goes back to them now she’s no longer here.’
‘Wow, that must have been a bombshell.’
‘Just a bit.’
‘Why didn’t she tell you?’
‘I have absolutely no idea… and Belinda and her village grapevine don’t know she didn’t tell me so please—’
‘My lips are sealed.’ Nessa drew an imaginary zipper across her mouth. ‘So what are you going to do about the Eppings’ outrageous plan?’
‘I’m not sure there’s much I can do. Much as I hate to admit it, their plan isn’t totally outrageous because the location is probably perfect for a hotel. I suggested to Mum years ago that she ought to turn Driftwood House into a guesthouse and take in paying customers.’
‘It would be amazing, with its sea views and gables and fireplaces. People go mad for that kind of retro stuff. What did your mum say?’
‘She told me we were lucky to live in such an amazing house and she didn’t want to share our little piece of heaven.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘But now her little piece of heaven is going to be destroyed.’
‘Really?’ Nessa put her hands on her hips. ‘Surely Raging Rosie isn’t going to give up without a fight?’
‘Raging what?’
‘Nothing.’ Nessa dipped her head, her cheeks flaring pink.
‘Is that what people call me?’
‘No, not really. It’s just how I thought of you at school. It doesn’t mean anything – just stupid kids’ stuff.’
Rosie wrinkled her nose in confusion. ‘But why “raging”? I was far too wimpy to ever argue with anyone.’
‘I don’t mean that sort of raging. It was more that you seemed at odds with everything – with school, with Heaven’s Cove and the rest of us. And you were full of energy and dreams. Anyway, we all had nicknames at school. I know mine – Loch Nessa Monster, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah, but only because—’
‘I know why – because I was rarely seen. It was quite clever really.’ She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. ‘My mum was ill.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry. That must have been really difficult for both of you.’
‘It was a tough time.’ Nessa stared at the grass for a moment, lost in thought, before shaking her head. ‘Anyway, that was years ago and there’s no point in raking up the past. And I’d better get to work or Scaggy will be on the warpath.’
‘Mr Scaglin doesn’t still run Shelley’s, does he? He was getting on a fair bit when we were at school. He must be ninety by now.’
‘Ninety-five at the very least. He’s all right, really. Bit of a stickler for time though so I’d best get a move on. He goes mad if I turn up after nine fifteen.’ Nessa got to her feet and wiped blades of grass from her backside. ‘I can’t believe what’s planned for Driftwood House and I hope, whatever you do, that things work out for you, Rosie.’
‘Don’t you mean Raging Rosie?’ she replied, raising an eyebrow.
‘Hmm, maybe I should have kept that to myself.’
‘It’s fine. There are worse things I could have been called.’
Worse things she probably was being called in the village right now. Runaway Rosie sprang to mind. She glanced up at Nessa from under her eyelashes. ‘Do you see much of Liam Satterley?’
‘Liam?’ Nessa gave her a sideways look. ‘I see him round and about. Why?’
‘No reason. I’ve bumped into him a couple of times and he seems much the same as he ever was.’
‘Do you think?’
‘Yeah. Still a bit full of himself. He was in the churchyard this morning and in a funny mood.’
‘That’s hardly surprising on today of all days.’
‘Why? What’s so different about today?’
Nessa glanced around and lowered her voice, even though only the seagulls circling overhead could overhear. ‘As I say, I don’t usually gossip but it’s exactly a year ago to the day since Liam was supposed to get married. Some people were talking about it in the shop yesterday, while I was doing my best not to listen.’
‘Liam Satterley was getting married?’ Rosie could hardly believe what she was hearing. ‘I didn’t think he was the type to settle down. Far too much of a ladies’ man.’
Nessa’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown. ‘People can change, Rosie. I get the feeling you’re judging us all on how we used to be before you ran off to Spain.’
‘I didn’t run off. I escaped.’
‘You escaped? From the picturesque, peaceful seaside village of Heaven’s Cove?’ spluttered Nessa.
‘So what happened, with the wedding?’ asked Rosie, ignoring the heavy sarcasm that she kind of deserved. Her interest was piqued by Liam’s abandoned nuptials, in spite of herself.
‘Deanna got cold feet. I always thought she was too high maintenance to be content as a farmer’s wife. Anyway, she left him standing at the altar in front of everyone.’
‘That’s awful!’
‘Yeah, and totally unnecessary. What a cow!’ Nessa glanced at her watch. ‘Look, I really do need to go or Scaggy will go mad. Good luck with everything and hopefully I’ll see you around before you head back to Spain. Don’t forget us all.’
With a smile, Nessa rushed off and started picking her way confidently down the cliff path, towards the village.
Rosie turned her face towards the sea. A fishing boat was chugging its way into harbour, followed by a bevy of gulls skimming its deck. Below her, there was a dull boom as waves hit the rock face and sprayed arcs of water into the morning air.
It really was beautiful here, and peaceful. Far more peaceful than her neighbourhood in Spain, where music drifted from open windows late into the night and there was a constant hum of conversation from people drinking at the street café beneath her first-floor flat.
She meant to picture Matt, sitting at her window with his handsome face in profile as he watched the peop
le below, but Liam’s face popped into her mind instead. The breaker of many hearts had suffered a broken heart himself. No wonder he’d been distracted and irritable this morning on such a sad anniversary.
Rosie wished she’d questioned Nessa more about what happened between him and his fiancée. She wished she’d listened when her mum told her about the goings-on in Heaven’s Cove. But she’d been so obviously uninterested, so sure that life here was boring, that her mum had stopped talking much about the village at all.
Rosie sighed and got to her feet. She’d spend the rest of the day scouring Driftwood House for paperwork – anything that might cast more light on her mother’s agreement with the Eppings, and the identity of the mysterious J whose flowers lay in the graveyard.
Three hours later, Rosie had found no paperwork of note at all – no will, nothing about her mum’s move to Driftwood House, and no mention of J. In fact, all she had, after working her way through a huge pile of old bills and invoices, was a pounding head, and an aching heart from seeing her mum’s instructions to herself scrawled across the paperwork: Settle by end of the month. Query this amount. What the hell is this payment for?
She’d laughed at that last one. Mum could never remember what she bought from one week to the next. And she was hopeless with money, unlike Rosie, who managed to stretch out her meagre wages to cover rent, nights out with friends, and food for her and Matt. Although his own much bigger apartment was nearby, and he earned more than she did, he often ate at hers, and drank her dry of white wine and sangria.
Rosie yawned and moved her shoulders up and down to ease her aching muscles. She was kneeling on the sitting room floor, in sunshine that had crept around the heavy damask curtains and pooled on the rug in front of the fireplace. The light was turning the multi-coloured rug into a bright mosaic and dust motes were dancing in sunbeams.
Although she was totally alone, Rosie felt comforted by the solidity of the house and its permanence in such a changing world. This special place had served her mother well and provided shelter and refuge over the years – when her grandparents died, when her father moved out, when she left. It had been a part of Heaven’s Cove for generations, only for it now to face destruction on the whim of a greedy landowner.
