‘Yes. I do remember …’
By the pained look on his face, she thought he didn’t seem that pleased at being reminded of their encounter. In contrast, Poppy’s recollection of Jake was way more positive.
He was still as striking – more so in fact – with those dark expressive eyes that seemed to hold as much back as they showed. She recalled the way, even back then, his expression had changed from intense to amused within seconds, but there was something different about him. It wasn’t so much the barely visible silver threads in his hair or the faint lines on his temple, but the hunched way he stood with his hands deep in his pockets. Something had sucked the life out of Jake Pendower or dimmed his light.
‘I’m sorry, I hadn’t connected you with the new tenants.’
He lingered on the quayside, seemingly unsure what to do next. She was the stranger, yet Jake appeared to want her to take the next step.
‘I heard from the boatman that your grandfather was poorly.’
‘From Winston?’ Jake said, nodding at the boatman who was a few feet away on the quayside, loading steel beer kegs from a trailer into the back of the boat.
‘Yes, but I don’t know the details. I’m sorry to hear he’s ill,’ Poppy said carefully, unsure as to how serious Archie’s condition actually was.
‘He had a fall a couple of weeks ago, but he’s on the mend now. That’s why you’ve got me … I’m looking after the handover while he convalesces at my parents’ place in Perranporth. We should have warned you, but I’ve been working away and Grandpa hasn’t been up to dealing with stuff.’
‘It’s OK. As long as someone’s here to show me the ropes. My circumstances have also changed a bit.’ She bit the bullet. ‘You’ve probably noticed that I’m on my own …’
‘I did wonder when you got off the boat alone,’ he said in a softer tone.
She steeled herself. ‘The thing is that Dan and I have gone our separate ways. Quite recently, actually, and I probably should have told your grandfather and the agent, but there never seemed a good moment.’ She hesitated as he listened, holding her gaze with his intense one. ‘It’s not easy explaining to people that you’re not part of a couple any more.’
He pressed his lips together, then spoke quietly. ‘I do understand … more than you know.’
Poppy winced inwardly, guessing that Jake was alluding to Harriet’s death. She waited for him to say more, but instead he summoned up an awkward smile.
‘Well, maybe it’s easier that I only have to explain the other piece of news to one person, rather than two. You see, some other things have changed since you were last here. I’m afraid the Starfish Studio might not be quite the way you remember it.’
This sounded so ominous that she didn’t know how to reply. Jake must have seen her panicked expression.
‘Don’t worry. The building’s still standing. Everything’s in working order, but I only arrived yesterday and the place hasn’t been aired since Grandpa left it. It hasn’t been open much over the winter and spring and he must have been using it to sort out and store some of his work, but I’ve shifted that and started to get some fresh air flowing. The damp climate had affected the atmosphere …’
She had that sinking feeling again, but the last thing she wanted was for Jake or anyone to think she was a clichéd urban snowflake. ‘Don’t worry. I thought the studio might not be exactly the same as I imagined it. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’
‘I just wanted to warn you before you stepped over the threshold. I’ll be around for a little while yet, so I can help you … if you want me to, seeing as you’re on your own.’
‘Thank you, but I don’t need any favours,’ she replied.
He flinched. ‘Of course not. I’ll keep away, of course, if that’s what you want.’
She cringed. She hadn’t meant to be rude, but his words had reminded her of Dan’s sneering contempt when she said she was going ahead with their plans alone – yet Jake hadn’t been laughing at her. Damn, why was she still so edgy? ‘I’m still getting used to taking this step on my own,’ she said quickly. ‘Or taking it at all. I’m happy to accept all the help and advice I’m offered.’
Jake shrugged and she realised the damage had been done already. ‘It’s OK, and anyway, as I said, I’ll be out of your hair soon, but Fen and the agent will be on hand to answer any questions. She’s Grandpa’s friend.’
‘I think I might have met her too, on the day we visited the studio. Crinkly hair and colourful clothes? In her mid-seventies?’
‘That would have been her, though she’s almost eighty now.’
They heard a clang behind them. The boatman had hoisted a beer keg off the boat and into the quay. There was a toot and a couple of passengers climbed on board.
Poppy glanced round and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh God. I’ve only just realised. Has my stuff arrived? It was loaded onto the Islander in a packing crate.’
Jake frowned. ‘Not as far as I know. Did the Islander crew say they’d send it on here? They should have done and they’re normally very efficient, although nothing has been delivered to the studio yet.’
‘They told me everything would be brought over when I boarded and I asked again before I got off the boat and they seemed to think I was worrying over nothing. They said the St Piran’s freight boat would bring it, but I don’t think the ferry has any space for cargo?’
‘Not much, though they will take things to and from St Mary’s if they have space. Like the beer kegs to and from the pub … We have to get our priorities right, don’t we, Winston?’ Jake called to the boatman.
With a grin, Winston walked over. He was about fifty with a pot belly, thinning salt-and-pepper hair and a gold earring.
‘Can’t have the pub running dry, can we?’ Jake said. ‘You’ve already met Poppy McGregor, haven’t you? She’s going to be running the studio.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Winston, shaking Poppy’s hand. ‘Again.’
‘You too.’ Poppy smiled.
‘Poppy was asking after her stuff. Do you know when the Herald will be here with the freight? I’m out of the loop where timing’s concerned?’ said Jake.
‘I was told it would be here by now …’ said Poppy, crossing her fingers and wondering how she was going to get to grips with the names, functions and schedules – or lack of them – of all the different inter-island boats and ferries. There appeared to be dozens of them, all with their own mysterious routes and purposes.
Winston gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘I hate to bring bad news, but I’ve just heard on the radio that the Herald has engine trouble. She’s under repair in St Mary’s and nothing major is getting across to St Piran’s from the harbour today.’
‘Oh. Oh f—’ Poppy resisted the urge to swear and say that if there had been room for half a dozen beer kegs, why couldn’t her crate have been squeezed onto the passenger ferry.
‘When do you think the Herald will be operating again?’ Jake asked.
Winston shrugged. ‘Her skipper was trying to make arrangements for another boat to bring the freight over. It might be this evening or it could be tomorrow.’
Poppy groaned. ‘All my bedding, clothes and bits and pieces were in the shipping crate. I haven’t even got a spare pair of knickers with me!’
Jake and Winston exchanged glances.
Poppy squeezed her eyes shut in horror. Why, oh, why had she said that?
‘I’m afraid that’s island life for you,’ said Jake, clearly struggling to hold in his laughter.
Winston grinned. ‘Not to worry. Your stuff should be here by the weekend.’
She gasped. ‘The weekend? Shit. Sorry – but what am I supposed to do without clean clothes until then?’
‘I expect Fen can lend you a pair of her drawers,’ said Jake, his shoulders shaking with laughter.
Poppy squeaked. ‘It’s not funny!’
‘I’m sure it isn’t. It sounds very serious, but take no notice of Winston. He’s having
you on. The skippers will sort it out between them and I bet the whole lot will get here first thing in the morning.’ Jake smiled and, despite her indignation, Poppy glimpsed the sunlight behind his eyes for a moment. ‘Joking apart, don’t worry. Fen and I will try to loan you anything you need tonight – um … most things anyway.’
‘I’ll ask around at the quay in St Mary’s and give you a bell,’ said Winston, still smirking.
‘Thanks.’ Poppy forced herself to sound cheerful. ‘I told myself to be prepared for glitches like this, but I can see it’s going to take a lot of getting used to.’
‘This is only the start of it,’ said Jake and Poppy was sure he wasn’t joking.
‘Oh. I see what you mean.’
If Poppy hadn’t been carrying her shopping, she’d have dug her nails into her palm to try and avoid blubbing when she followed Jake inside the Starfish Studio. Jake had warned her not to expect too much, but he’d been right when he said things had changed. In fact, she was finding it impossible to equate the damp, cold space around her with the vibrant gallery she remembered. The photos on the agent’s website must have been years old.
She put her bags down. Jake went in ahead of her, so she couldn’t see his face and maybe that was what he wanted. ‘I’m sure it can be sorted out and if you really feel that the place isn’t as advertised then I know my grandfather wouldn’t want you to feel forced to stay.’
‘I’m staying,’ she declared and her words echoed off the walls. Oh, the walls … they weren’t the cool white backdrop she remembered; they were discoloured, chipped and peeling. That was only the half of it. Most of the display plinths were empty and the stock that was left was hardly appealing. Oh God, was that a collection of crocheted toilet roll dollies by the cash desk?
Jake followed her to the loo roll dollies. He winced. ‘Sorry. I should have cleared those away. They must have been made by one of Fen’s friends and Grandpa obviously didn’t have the heart to chuck them out. Or maybe Fen sneaked them in when he wasn’t looking as a favour to her mate. They’re not really in keeping with the gallery, are they?’
‘I don’t want to be a snob,’ said Poppy. ‘Or offend anyone but …’
‘It’s your gallery and you have to have your own vision for it. You can’t stock every piece that someone offers you and if that means ruffling a few feathers, then so be it.’
He switched on the lights. Despite it being only five p.m., the place seemed dull and the overhead strip light only served to highlight the shabby walls and fittings.
‘I can see I’m going to have to redecorate.’ She was thinking aloud.
Jake moved by her side. ‘That sounds like a plan.’
‘And I think we’re going to need new stock.’
‘Definitely,’ said Jake. ‘I can help you sort through some of Grandpa’s paintings,’ he added more brightly. ‘There were several boxes of them in the work area and I wasn’t sure which he wanted to put up for sale. Shall I phone and ask him for you?’
She swung round. ‘Yes. Thanks. I very much still want to sell your grandfather’s pictures. It’s wonderful and, after all, the studio’s reputation was built on Archie Pendower’s work.’
‘I think that’s what he was hoping,’ said Jake and gave her one of his searching looks. ‘Have you had much experience of running a gallery before?’
‘Does it look like it?’ said Poppy, then softened as she realised Jake wasn’t being sarcastic. ‘Some. I worked in a small studio at a craft centre during one of my uni vacations, but that was a long time ago, as you’ve probably guessed. I dabble in jewellery making as a hobby, but I’m not a professional. My last job was managing the PR for a building products company, so promoting gloss paint is as close as I’ve come to selling art recently.’
Jake’s eyes crinkled. ‘At least you’re honest. Some people might have turned up, thinking they know everything about the business. I doubt the gallery trade has changed that much and if you’ve a realistic idea about the business and you’re ready to learn, that’s most of the job done.’
She was sure he was being kind but also hoped he was right. ‘I’ve being doing lots of research over the past few months since we decided to move here. I talked to a lot of gallery owners and artists. I’ve already emailed half a dozen of the people who supply the studio and told them about my “exciting new plans”.’ She placed air quotes around the last few words with her fingers.
He paused by the desk where Fen used to ring up the purchases. The same vintage calculator sat on the table, although the digital screen was dead. ‘Um, what did they say?’ he asked.
‘Only two of them bothered to reply and said they’d have to think about it. That was months ago and I was going to phone them all back and find out why they seemed reluctant, but things happened at home and, since then, I’ve spent all my time trying to sort the fallout from me and Dan splitting up.’
‘That’s understandable and I’m not surprised the artists didn’t respond if they’d seen the way this place was going.’ He picked up her shopping from the floor by the doorway. ‘It can wait until tomorrow after the journey you must have had. I heard the Islander was almost cancelled. Why don’t you come up and see the flat? It’s basic but I’ve – er – had a bit of a tidy-up this morning, so there shouldn’t be too many shocks.’
Dreading what awaited her, Poppy followed him to the spiral staircase that she’d seen on her first visit. The rope barrier hung from the hook on the wall, the ‘Private’ sign resting on the lowest step. Passing the sign reminded her this was her space now and only she had the right to pass the barrier and enter the flat above. It also reminded her that she should have been exploring the studio and flat with Dan at her side. They ought to have been sharing the disappointment of finding the gallery in disarray and reassuring each other – together. She wondered what his reaction might have been. He would probably have been angry and grumpy and possibly have demanded that Jake cancel the lease and they head straight home. Or maybe he would have jollied her along and been positive. She had no way of knowing and now never would. Everything she’d thought she’d been certain of where Dan was concerned had been blown to smithereens.
‘The flat’s small but it is cosy, or it will be,’ Jake said.
It didn’t take long to take in everything, from the dated but clean kitchenette to the ageing sofa where the plumped-up cushions were lined up neatly. The curtains were tied back from the windows, flooding the attic flat with light. The sun lit up every fading furnishing, chipped cupboard and peeling wall. The sight of her humble new home combined with the efforts a stranger had gone to, to make it welcoming, was almost too much. What finally tipped her over the edge was the double bed, stripped bare apart from the sagging mattress.
She bit her lip, but it was too late to stop tears forming in her eyes. She not only felt miserable, she also felt mortified in case she blubbed in front of Jake.
‘It’ll be f-fine,’ she said, unable to hide the crack in her voice. She dug a tissue from her coat pocket and blew her nose noisily. ‘It’s been a very long day. A long few months in fact.’
‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll put the kettle on? My throat’s dry anyway, after clearing all that dust from downstairs.’
‘Thanks,’ said Poppy and sat down on the bed next to her. The springs made an alarming noise as if one was going to pop through the mattress like in a cartoon. Seconds later, the bed lurched sideways and she felt herself tipping over.
‘Oh my God …’
She tried to get up but it was too late. The bed collapsed onto the floor with a loud crunch as the leg gave way. Poppy found herself lurching sideways down the mattress, fully aware it was happening but unable to stop herself. A second later, she’d dropped the few inches from the mattress onto the floor and was face to face with the tufts of the rug.
She’d been slightly winded by the shock of rolling off the bed but nothing hurt so she knew she was completely uninjured. Her descent had happened in such com
edic slow motion that it was almost funny. In fact, it was funny and the tears that had bubbled out only moments earlier now turned into laughter. She rolled onto her back, her body shaking.
Jake loomed over her, his brow creased in horror. ‘Christ. Are you OK? I’m so sorry.’
She opened her mouth to answer but had a fit of the giggles as his face, almost six feet above her, bore an expression of complete disbelief.
‘Oh God.’ He looked so horrified Poppy laughed even more.
‘I’m f-f-fine. It’s just … well it’s s-so f-funny. The bed c-collaps-sing …’ Her sides hurt from laughing.
‘No. It’s not funny. It’s terrible.’ Jake dragged his hands over his face and groaned. ‘I’m so sorry. This bloody place. It’s not only a dump, it’s downright dangerous as well.’
She managed to stop giggling for a few seconds and pushed herself up to sitting. Tears wet her cheeks.
Jake held out his hand.
‘No. I’m fine. Please don’t worry,’ she said, but he clasped her hand anyway and she half clambered and was half pulled to her feet.
He let go of her hand. ‘I knew the place was a mess, but I hadn’t realised it was this bad. Look at that bed!’ he cried.
She glanced at the mattress. One leg had snapped clean off, hence her undignified fall to earth. ‘It could have happened any time. Good job it wasn’t in the middle of the night,’ she said, with a giggle.
Jake wasn’t amused and his embarrassment only made her smile more. He’d obviously been terrified of showing her the place, which somehow made her feel better about how shitty it was.
‘It’s not good enough,’ he declared. ‘None of it is. I wouldn’t blame you if you decided not to stay,’ he said.
‘Oh no. Absolutely not.’ She fired back the words so hard and fast that he looked taken aback. ‘I’m staying. Even if it kills me,’ she declared.
‘I hope it won’t do that. The sofa is safe enough. I’ve tested it,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll get the coffee.’
Summer on the Little Cornish Isles Page 6
