Christmas on the Little Cornish Isles

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘Most of the time,’ said Una crisply. ‘You do get some who turn up and act like they’ve been marooned on Devil’s Island. It’s not for everyone here. One of them asked me where was the nearest McDonald’s and could he have a pizza biked down here? I said the farm on St Agnes delivered meat and dairy and he could get a pizza at the Driftwood if he was prepared to walk.’

  Maisie smiled. ‘That’s an idea. Pizza delivery by bike … Gull Island can be a Marmite kind of place. Love or hate,’ she said, pleased to have the topic of business brought up.

  ‘Are you coming inside?’ Una asked. ‘I could do with a cuppa and I think we’ve a slice of lemon drizzle loaf left.’

  ‘I shouldn’t eat, I’m going swimming, but a coffee would be great. Thanks.’

  Maisie sipped her coffee, perched on an old wing-backed armchair from which the stuffing was escaping. The rest of the furnishings were clean, but old and shabby. She was used to old, worn interiors. Everyone had to make do on Gull. Even if you had some spare cash, the cost of getting goods on and off the island could be prohibitive and disposing of old stuff wasn’t simple, either. She’d had a few newer pieces shipped from her old flat in St Austell so her bedsit room at the Driftwood still looked relatively decent and modern.

  ‘I expect you want to talk about Scorrier, don’t you?’ Una said, cutting a slice of lemon drizzle for herself.

  Maisie was wrong-footed but decided not to lie. ‘Is it true you’ve sold to him?’ she asked, trying to sound casual.

  Phyllis glared at her sister. ‘Not yet. We said we’d think about it. There’s the documents on there.’ She pointed to a folder on a carved-oak sideboard. ‘Una wants to sign and get it over with but I can’t bring myself to do it.’

  ‘We promised him we’d seriously consider his offer, Phyll. Bookings are way down. We’re embarrassed to show people round, the fixtures and fittings are so dated but we can’t afford to pour in thousands on refurbishing them.’ Una popped a chunk of cake in her mouth.

  ‘We’ve cut the prices,’ said Phyllis. ‘But we daren’t drop any lower. This place needs a big investment and we haven’t got it.’

  ‘And we’re not getting any younger,’ said Una gloomily through a mouthful of cake.

  ‘Hugo suggested we apply for a retirement bungalow on St Mary’s. It makes sense and yet …’ Phyllis looked round the cottage and sighed. ‘I’ll miss my garden and the guests and this view.’

  All Maisie’s persuasions had vanished. She didn’t have an answer, but Hugo clearly had his plan very well thought out. ‘What will you do?’ she asked.

  Phyllis shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I do,’ said Una. ‘You do too, Phyll, you just don’t want to face up to it, but Hugo won’t wait forever. We have to decide soon or he might change his mind, and who’d buy this place, then? No one with any sense, that’s for sure.’

  Maisie’s heart sank further. ‘It’s so beautiful, though. I’d love to have it.’

  ‘Would you, dear?’ said Phyllis. ‘Could you buy it? Maybe we could live in one of the cottages and keep an eye on it.’ Phyllis shoved the cake plate at Maisie. ‘Go on, have a little bite. Won’t do you any harm.’

  Maisie smiled and picked up the slice of cake that Phyllis had offered. She didn’t want to offend them. The Bartons were amazing women and although she felt slightly guilty at telling them what to do with their lives, she was also determined to put up a fight against Hugo’s bullying tactics.

  ‘Sorry, I wish I had the cash and an answer for you – mmm, this is gorgeous cake, by the way – and I know exactly how you must feel about having to leave here and I’d want to stay too, but I also know that a place like this is a lot of work and needs investment. But please, don’t let Hugo rush you into anything or bully you out of your home. You know what he can be like.’

  ‘He’s tried smooth talking us,’ said Una curtly. ‘And while I’ve told him his offer makes sense, I’ve also told him we won’t be railroaded.’

  Phyllis sighed. ‘I expect we will end up selling to him. I’m sorry if that’s not the answer you wanted, Maisie.’

  Maisie swallowed a large chunk of cake before replying. ‘It’s none of my business, even though I’m very sorry to see it happen.’

  ‘Of course, if we had children to take it over, it would be different, but neither of us married and there are no nephews and nieces. Too late for that now.’

  Maisie finished her coffee and cake and listened sympathetically while Una and Phyllis related a list of jobs that needed doing in the garden and to the house. Finally Maisie replaced her empty cup in the saucer. ‘Look. I know it sounds like a mammoth task to maintain this place but I’m sure we can come up with some way of helping you stay here.’

  ‘But how?’ asked Una.

  ‘I um – don’t have the exact details yet but I’m working on a plan,’ said Maisie, narrowly avoiding adding the word ‘cunning’.

  Phyllis let out a squeak. ‘A plan? That sounds very interesting.’

  Una replaced her cup in its saucer carefully. ‘Can you tell us more about this plan, dear?’

  Panicking a little, Maisie stood up. ‘Not yet but I promise you, you’ll be the first to know as soon as I’ve formed up the – er – specifics. Don’t give up hope,’ she said, way more confidently than she felt. ‘Hugo hasn’t beaten us yet, not by a long way. Now, I’d better be going but rest assured, I’ll be in touch very soon.’

  Una saw her to the door. ‘Thank you for calling. We can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with.’

  Neither can I, thought Maisie as she walked down the path away from the house.

  What plan? What specifics? What had she said that for? Damn.

  She’d already been clutching at straws by imagining the sisters might have a secret source of money, or that they’d found people to buy the cottages and take them on without Hugo’s help.

  Now she’d given them false expectations – unless she could really come up with a cunning plan in the next couple of days.

  Her phone buzzed in her backpack. Maisie dug it out and let out a groan as she saw the screen. It was a text from Hugo.

  ‘Been away on business. Call me as agreed? Don’t be a stranger. ;) H xxx’

  Don’t be a stranger? Three kisses and a winking smiley?

  Had she given Hugo the wrong impression by even agreeing to visit him? It was too late now and she supposed it was better to keep her friends close and her enemies closer, though the prospect of being up close to Hugo made her shudder.

  Deciding to put off her reply until she’d decided exactly how to respond, Maisie took a few calming breaths. A swim might clear her head. Slinging her pack over her shoulders, she headed for the pool, trying to fill her racing mind with calming and positive thoughts. It wasn’t really working but the sight of the sparkling sea did boost her mood and, she reminded herself, she should make the most of the blue in the late autumn sky and the gentle breeze. Storms were forecast over the coming week and she might not be able to use the pool for weeks, or even months, if she didn’t seize the moment.

  She stopped for another look at Hell Cove before it finally disappeared from view as she walked around the corner to the pool. The roof of the house and cottages had several slates missing or chipped. There was a lot of work to do, no wonder the sisters found it daunting. It had taken Patrick and her father a week to repair the slates on the Driftwood and if anything Hell Cove House was in a worse state. Maybe she and Patrick could lend a hand to Una and Phyllis, at least to get the place ready for a new season …

  She picked her way over the beach towards the pool. Old crates and rope had washed up, and rubbish that had fallen from ships or been thrown into the sea. Sadly, there was no Spanish gold today that might have helped her fend off Hugo.

  Then again … An idea formed in her mind at the same time as the Mermaid Pool came into view. Maisie felt a lift of pleasure as she caught sight of the dark green waters.

  Hmm. It was a lo
ng shot and would take all her powers of persuasion and organisation and but it might just work.

  Mulling over the thought that was taking root, Maisie opened her rucksack and pulled out her towel so it would be instantly ready for when she climbed out after her swim. The breeze rippled the surface of the pool and the odd wave still broke over the lip. It was time to start using her shortie wetsuit after today, wherever she chose to swim. She was pulling off her trainers when she heard whistling from above her on the footpath and a second later, Patrick appeared.

  Chapter 21

  He spotted her immediately and jogged down the rough steps to join her, his boots ringing out on the rock.

  ‘Are you going in there?’ he asked. ‘That’s brave.’

  He grimaced but his eyes glittered with amusement. Their summer sea colours took on an intensity that made Maisie’s limbs feel almost liquid. A couple of days’ stubble shaded his jaw and without warning, she had an image – and a feeling – of it rasping against her cheek, her neck and her breasts.

  Maisie dug her nails into her palm, willing the feelings swirling in her belly to go away. ‘It might be my last chance until spring so I thought I’d go for it.’

  He nodded. ‘Seizing the day. I get that.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s where I’ve been, actually.’ He smiled. ‘The vicar’s cottage.’

  So, Patrick had been round to the vicarage again. Maisie raised an eyebrow. ‘Prayer meeting, was it?’

  ‘Unlikely as I’m a fully paid-up heathen … but I suppose I could be open to conversion. With enough persuasion.’

  ‘Rev Bev’s made quite an impression on the community,’ said Maisie. ‘Vicar and first responder. I was glad she was around to help Dad.’ She felt she had to say something super nice about the vicar. She’d hate Patrick to think she was in any way jealous. Which she wasn’t, of course.

  ‘Just passing, were you?’ Maisie teased, hoping she didn’t sound sarcastic.

  ‘No, as a matter of fact I had an invitation.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, picking up her trainers and putting them on a rock. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeming interested.

  ‘Beverley wants to see my slides,’ said Patrick.

  ‘Does she now?’ Maisie rolled her eyes and sat down on a low rock ready to take off her socks, half wishing Patrick would leave but also dying to know what had gone on between him and the glamorous Bev.

  ‘She asked me if I’d give a talk on Australian wildlife at the community hall.’

  Maisie laughed out loud. ‘Well, that’s what passes for entertainment on Gull.’

  He feigned a hurt look. ‘Don’t knock it. I’ll probably be mobbed like Justin Bieber.’

  ‘You’d go down better if you were Tom Jones given the average age of the parish group. Will you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Will people really want to see a few bored ’roos and a blurry shot of an echidna?’

  ‘They’d probably turn up to see a photo of the vicar’s pug. I hate to disillusion you, Patrick, but I don’t think the wildlife is the attraction.’

  ‘What are you trying to say? That I’m the attraction?’

  ‘No! The free tea and biscuits are. People will do anything for a free cuppa and a Hobnob.’

  ‘And here was I thinking I was an exotic species that the locals would flock to examine.’

  You are. I would. Maisie kept her thoughts buttoned away. She’d abandoned any idea of taking off her socks or anything else while Patrick was in such close proximity. Keeping up the mindless banter was her way of trying to stop her simmering desires from boiling over completely. Boy, did she need a dip in that cold pool!

  ‘How was your meeting?’ he asked.

  ‘What meeting?’

  ‘With Phyllis and Una? I saw you walking along the beach to the cottage on my way to the vicarage.’

  ‘Oh. OK, I’ve been trying to persuade them not to accept Hugo’s offer.’

  He paused before responding, as if he didn’t know how to answer. Maisie half wished she hadn’t told him about the purpose of her visit. After all, it wasn’t his problem, even though he seemed to be no big fan of Hugo.

  ‘And how did that go?’ he asked.

  ‘They’ve almost made up their minds to sell to Hugo, but they’re not totally sure. He’s charmed them and convinced them they’d be better off in a little bungalow on St Mary’s.’

  ‘Would they really move?’

  Maisie glared at him. ‘I honestly don’t know. There’s a lot of maintenance on the cottages and they’re not getting any younger and the income is dwindling so … argh. Probably, yes, but that doesn’t mean they should sell the place to Hugo. They could find new owners willing to invest in the cottages, perhaps even expand them.’

  ‘I’m guessing that would take a lot of time and energy on their part, not to mention luck. It’s a massive decision to move somewhere as isolated as Gull.’

  Maisie felt faintly annoyed with Patrick even if he was making reasonable observations. Reasonable wasn’t what she wanted now: she wanted his support. ‘I could help them. I know the agents from all the lettings companies and they’d do their best to find them a buyer or tenant.’

  ‘You have a lot on your plate with the Driftwood.’

  ‘Living here is a labour of love. It’s a lifestyle choice, you can’t dabble, you have to throw yourself heart and soul into making a go of life here, even when things get tough. You have to be committed to the isles. To Gull, especially, as it’s so tiny.’

  ‘And are you? Committed to it? With your heart and soul?’

  ‘What else am I going to do with the rest of my life?’ It was meant as a joke but it was true. She laughed. ‘Right at this moment, I’m only committed to getting in that water.’

  She pulled off her fleece, enjoying the look of disbelief on Patrick’s face. There were salty tangles in his hair, which had darkened as he spent longer away from the blazing skies of his homeland.

  ‘Are you coming in?’ The invitation was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

  ‘I’m not sure I’d do myself any credit swimming in there. Besides, I haven’t brought my swimsuit.’

  ‘That’s your problem. Luckily I have.’

  Patrick peered into the water and pulled a face. ‘I don’t know …’

  Deciding not to wait any longer, she took off her socks and fleece, and laid them on a flat rock. Trying to act casual, she unzipped her skinny jeans and pulled them down her legs, making sure her bikini bottoms didn’t accidentally come with them. An undignified struggle to get her jeans over ankles followed and she almost overbalanced.

  Finally, she pulled off her T-shirt. If Patrick was expecting a show, he was going to get less than he bargained for because she’d worn her tankini top under her T-shirt. Even so, he was seeing more of her than he’d seen before and she was glad that the cold air calmed down the heat that raced to her cheeks.

  ‘Good luck,’ he said, but made no move to leave.

  ‘Thanks.’ She wished he’d either go away or join her in shivering by the pool but he sat on the rock next to her clothes, and gave her a cheeky wave, as she walked down the rough steps that had been hewn into the rocks a century before. A fresh tide had refilled the pool with ocean water and waves still broke over the edge. She tried to focus on her senses, the sounds of waves crashing on the reef and the tang of wet seaweed in the air, but she was painfully aware of Patrick’s eyes on her.

  She stepped down into the pool, onto the last step. Normally she’d have spent a few minutes dithering, dipping her toes in the pool and sitting on the edge, splashing herself while she plucked up the courage to go in. No way was she going to show any kind of hesitation with him watching, so she held out her hands and pushed off into the water.

  Oh God. Oh fffff—

  She’d expected it to be cold but arghhh.

  She gasped, her heart pounded but she tried to strike o
ut in a proper crawl straight away, instead of her usual frantic dog paddle. Salt stung her eyes but she swam as fast as she could to the far edge of the pool, blowing hard and praying she’d acclimatise before she had to turn back towards Patrick and he could see her agonised face.

  Eyes stinging, she reached the far side. It was too cold to stop and rest so she pushed off from the rocks and did a breaststroke back towards him.

  He was watching her. Not smiling, just looking. It unnerved her.

  A few feet from where he was sitting, she stopped and trod water, managed a laugh. ‘Are you coming in or are you going to chicken out?’

  ‘Nothing wrong with being chicken,’ he said.

  She clucked and squawked at him. It wasn’t difficult to make a strangled noise like that, she was so damn cold. Then she kicked and turned and swam as hard as she could for the side of the pool again. The waves had stopped breaking over the edge as the tide retreated so the water was calmer. On her next turn, Patrick had kicked off his boots. He tugged his sweatshirt and long-sleeved T-shirt over his head in one motion and dropped them next to her own clothes.

  She stopped and kicked to stay afloat.

  She’d seen him shirtless before, in the garden, but here she felt exposed, even though he was the one half naked. He was fit and lean, not in any fake cover-model way, but it was obvious he did physical work. His shoulders were broad and his arms muscular and long. His torso was tanned, of course, not the deep gold of his face and forearms but tawny, in a way no islander could hope to achieve. She thought of the day he’d first walked into the Driftwood and stood out like an exotic creature.

  Her breath caught in her throat again and she turned away and swam back to the far side of the pool, her heart racing. When she reached him again, Patrick was down to his navy boxers, and shivering ankle deep on the rock steps. He bared his teeth in disgust.

  ‘Are you out of your mind? It’s glacial in here.’

  Laughing, she trod water and flicked a stream of water into the air, soaking him.