Christmas on the Little Cornish Isles

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘Nothing. Just enjoying the reverse striptease.’

  She glared at him then burst out laughing. She had always been beautiful to him but this was a new, flirty, flippant Maisie. A Maisie with the weight of the world lifted from her shoulders for a couple of hours.

  She put her top on. Patrick found her socks under the edge of the bed and handed them over.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’ll need these.’ He held out her trainer. ‘Here.’

  She gawped in amazement as he lifted her foot into his lap and slipped the trainer over her toe and heel.

  ‘You don’t have to …’

  ‘I want to. Shh.’

  She wiggled her foot inside and to his surprise, let him slip the other shoe on. A small, half-secret smile spread over her lips. He wondered what she was thinking then realised it was impossible to know what Maisie really thought about anything. As long as this hadn’t been the last time, that was all he needed to know.

  ‘When can we do this again?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know … maybe tomorrow. Away from Gull, if we can both get away together.’

  ‘I have rugby training tomorrow night at the community centre field on St Saviour’s.’

  She hesitated then smiled. ‘And I’m seeing Jess. We could meet at the Flower Farm. I’ll let her know. She won’t tell. What about Will?’

  ‘I haven’t known him long but he doesn’t seem like the gossipy type.’ Patrick smiled.

  ‘I think we can trust him, I’ll tell her tomorrow evening and we’ll arrange to meet later.’

  He smiled as she reached to kiss him. That soft, hot mouth, the scent of her … her skin and eyes seemed to shimmer with post-sex radiance. Jesus, he’d be climbing the walls until they were alone again tomorrow.

  ‘See you,’ she said, and unlocked the door. She peered outside to check the coast was clear and was gone.

  He shoved his fingers through his damp hair. The room was quiet. It was dark now so he lit the table lamp. He sat down on the bed and sighed. The room still smelled of her – of them and of his guilt.

  He lay on his bed, turning over the ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ and bargaining with himself until he heard the voices of Ray and Hazel as they walked around the side of the pub. Ray was grumbling and telling Hazel not to fuss and that he was perfectly capable of helping out and that Maisie needed the support. The back door to the inn closed and he was on his own again.

  What good would it do, he reasoned, to ruin Maisie’s happiness and his own when there was no actual need to upset her? He’d be gone in a few months. Why bring the house crashing down and making everyone, including himself, miserable? Life was too short – Greg was always telling him that. And anyway, what was wrong with a few little white lies, when they hadn’t – and couldn’t – hurt anyone?

  Chapter 24

  The following day, Maisie met Jess on the quayside at St Mary’s harbour. Maisie could see her scanning the boat, desperate to hear the ‘big news’ Maisie had promised to share once they were face to face. They’d booked a table for lunch at a café overlooking Porthcressa beach but Maisie wanted to get the main news over with while they were in the open air, rather than in a confined space.

  ‘Jess …’ Maisie began as they strolled along the pavement towards the café. ‘I’ve got something to tell you and I don’t want it to go any further than the two of us and I want you keep calm when I tell you.’

  Jess stopped dead in her tracks in front of the tour-boat ticket hut. ‘Oh God, hun, that sounds serious. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing bad. Far from it, but something that you might be a bit shocked by.’

  ‘For God’s sake, tell me before I burst!’

  ‘Only if you swear not to tell anyone.’

  Jess folded her arms. ‘Maisie. I’m getting pissed off now. You know I’d never share any secret of yours.’

  ‘It’s me and Patrick. We’re sort of … well, an item.’

  ‘An item? You mean you’re shagging him? Oh my God, I knew there was something going on. I just knew it!’ Jess actually punched the air in triumph exactly like Andy Murray when he’d just won Wimbledon.

  Maisie had expected Jess to be pleased – and justifiably a bit smug – but not actually breaking out the party poppers and champagne. ‘No, you didn’t. I didn’t know it myself until yesterday afternoon, so how could you?’

  ‘I could see it. Smell it. I just knew you were shagging him, and why not? He’s gorgeous, for a toy boy.’

  ‘Toy boy? He’s only two years younger than me.’

  Jess winked and pointed a finger at Maisie. ‘Gotcha!’

  As they walked along the cobbles that led from the harbour to Hugh Street and over to Porthcressa, Maisie took her arm. ‘Please, Jess. Keep your voice down. I wasn’t shagging him. I absolutely had no intention of shagging him. Until yesterday.’

  ‘Oh my God. How was it?’

  ‘You can’t ask me that. Argh. I wish I’d never shared this with you. I’ve changed my mind. I was going to ask if we could use the Flower Farm as somewhere discreet to meet up.’

  ‘Oh, but you must. I love the idea of you using the farm as a love nest.’

  ‘It’s not a love nest.’ Maisie had to say the last two words through gritted teeth. It sounded so tacky but asking Jess had seemed a good idea before she’d actually got the words out.

  ‘A lust nest, then.’

  Maisie gave up. ‘What about your mum? Won’t she suspect something?’ she asked Jess.

  Jess looked around her as if checking for spies that might be lurking behind the tourist information centre. ‘Not if we’re – you’re – careful and discreet.’

  Maisie snorted. ‘Discreet? With you dancing round with a megaphone shouting: “Roll up, roll up to see Maisie and Patrick at it”.’

  ‘A megaphone? You know, that’s not a bad idea. I could charge a couple of quid per person and give the money to the lifeboats.’ Jess pointed at Maisie. ‘Maisie, your face. Stop worrying. I can be the soul of discretion when I want to be. You know you can trust me, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’ Maisie knew Jess was referring to the business with Keegan and her miscarriage. Jess had been wonderful. Her parents had been sympathetic and loving but she didn’t know what she’d have done without Jess to talk to and cry with.

  ‘And the good news is that Mum’s gone to see her sister in Camborne for a while so you’ll be safe. Poor Auntie Gill’s broken her ankle … After she comes back, we’ll have to formulate an alternative plan of action.’

  ‘This isn’t an SAS mission,’ said Maisie, although she couldn’t stop smiling at Jess’s enthusiasm for being part of the intrigue and it was very useful that Mrs Godrevy was safely out of the way on the mainland, at least for a couple of weeks. Jess was an angel for being so happy for Maisie when her own love life with Adam Pengelly had taken a terminal nosedive.

  ‘No, but you’re going to have to treat it like one if you’re to keep this under wraps. You definitely don’t want to go public, do you?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I don’t, and Patrick has agreed. We haven’t known each other long.’

  ‘Three weeks, give or take,’ said Jess.

  ‘Thanks for keeping tally.’

  Jess beamed proudly. ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘Anyway, as you’ve pointed out, we’ve only known each other a few weeks. I know what some people will say if they find out we’re an item, not that I care of course.’

  ‘Oh, of course not.’

  Maisie ignored the sarcasm, aware she was convincing herself way more than Jess. ‘It’s no big deal. We’re having a fling and Patrick’s going back to Australia. End of. It’s what I want and he wants and, you know, it’s a bloody lovely change. No one has any silly ideas or expectations. The lines are clear from the start and so no one is going to end up disappointed or bunny boiling.’

  Maisie laughed, expecting Jess to nod in agreement or make a cheeky joke but Jess’s expression had
changed. She was chewing her bottom lip, a sure sign she was unsure, or doubtful – or both. Maisie had seen that look at school when Jess had been homesick or when she’d been worried about her parents’ break-up or Adam’s moods.

  Jess’s uncertainty was contagious and Maisie’s own stomach fluttered with unease. ‘What’s up now?’ she asked.

  In a flash, Jess threw on the Cheshire Cat beam again. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all, hun. If you’re happy about the arrangement, then I’m bloody ecstatic for you and I’m delighted to help out in any way I can.’

  ‘Good. Patrick’s going to have a word with Will after rugby tonight so if it’s OK and you wouldn’t mind making the um … arrangements …’ Maisie hesitated, suddenly realising what she was asking. Her cheeks heated up.

  ‘I don’t mind at all. How does the spare room sound? It’s clean but it’s not been aired, you won’t mind that, will you? Will and I’ll go down the Seven Stars for a while so you can have some privacy. Will can take you both back to Gull afterwards if you don’t want to bring the Puffin. Subject to the tides of course, but I think we’ll be OK for a little afternoon delight.’

  ‘I’ll need an excuse for coming over here.’

  ‘Tell your mum and dad we need an extra pair of hands with the packing and that Patrick has volunteered while you help me out in the office in your spare time. After all, it’s peak season for the narcissi and you’ve helped me for years.’

  ‘True. Thanks so much. I know you’re busy.’

  ‘It’s a genuine pleasure as long as you don’t want me to pick up the pieces when he finally goes home.’

  It was said light-heartedly, but Maisie felt a tremor of unease when Jess mentioned Patrick leaving. However, she pushed it away. She hugged Jess, shimmering with excitement again. Jess might be feeling down because she’d been thinking about Adam Pengelly and Maisie felt sorry for that.

  She almost wanted to punch the air herself but settled for a sigh of contentment. How very grown-up, eh? A secret affair with a sexy Australian who drove her insane with lust.

  ‘I’ll text him to let him know you’re fine with us meeting here for the next week. Thank you so much for this, Jess. I won’t forget when it’s your turn.’

  Jess wrinkled her nose. ‘I can’t imagine when you’ll ever be able to return the favour but it’s a pleasure. Anything to see you happy.’

  Buzzing with joy, Maisie pushed open the door to the café, ready for a very happy girly lunch. Anyone watching them, and naturally Maisie knew most of the people in the café, would have wondered what had got into the pair of them as they giggled and shared in-jokes like school girls.

  It was only when Maisie got out her purse at the end of the meal and saw her phone that the lunch turned sour. There were two missed calls and a text from Hugo, demanding to know why she hadn’t got back to him.

  Maisie couldn’t keep the dismay off her face before she shoved the phone back in her bag.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Jess. ‘Not your dad, is it?’

  Maisie forced a smile. ‘Nothing important. Just a few issues at the pub. It’ll keep.’

  ‘It’ kept longer than Maisie had planned. Every time she considered calling Hugo, she thought of an even better excuse not to: she was too busy at the pub, or her parents needed her, or she was with Patrick (and glowing with happiness at their new ‘arrangement’). She’d also made some progress in rallying the troops to Operation Resist Hugo and calling her ‘enemy’ just didn’t feel right, no matter how much she might find out by doing so.

  She’d been to the Fudge Pantry and had come away feeling more hopeful than she’d expected. The owners, Davina and Pete Jenkins, were also torn over the merits of Hugo’s offer, but Hugo’s claim that they had already agreed to sell to him appeared to be over-optimistic at best.

  Even on a damp and misty day Maisie could see exactly why he wanted the Jenkins’ cottage and why they were reluctant to let it go. Positioned on a hillock in the very heart of Gull, it had three-sixty degree views of the whole island and the Scilly archipelago, and every one of Gull’s beautiful pathways passed it. Hugo had hinted it would make a perfect artisan café, deli and ‘farm shop’, though Maisie suspected he had no intention of stocking it with local produce. After Maisie’s visit, they’d agreed not to make a decision until Maisie could arrange a private meeting with everyone affected by the proposal.

  Her conscience had niggled that she was being unfair to Hugo by ignoring his calls but the more she found out about his tactics, the less guilty she felt. In fact, she felt a renewed surge of optimism and instead of heading back to the Driftwood after her meeting with the Jenkinses, Maisie dropped in on the Rev Bev.

  The vicar lived in a modest but solid granite house next to the church. A fresh breeze had sprung up and blown away the mist and Bev was hanging out her surplices in the emerging sunlight, next to a leopard-print fleece and a row of racy knickers. Maisie couldn’t help but smile. Apart from family events and Christmas carols, she was no churchgoer, but she liked any vicar who was prepared to drink in her pub and join in with the karaoke night.

  Rumour had it that the vicar had been very popular in her mainland parish, a fishing village called St Trenyan, and Maisie could see why. Bev worked hard, had a warm, welcoming personality and the sense of humour needed to look after three island churches in all weathers. She looked after the parishes on St Saviour’s and St Piran’s, as well as Gull, so she was forever in and out of boats.

  Maisie called hello as she opened the little wicket gate that led into the garden. ‘Hi there, hope I’m not interrupting anything important?’

  Beverley turned round, her arms full of laundry. ‘Only the vital task of hanging out my smalls. How lovely to see you. How are your mum and dad doing after their scare?’

  The vicar’s Brummie accent always took Maisie slightly aback. Combined with the glamorous image and the dog collar, it was slightly unnerving – but fun. ‘Dad’s on the mend and Mum’s starting to relax a little. We’re all very relieved,’ said Maisie.

  ‘I saw them both walking along Hell Cove the other day. He looked better.’ Bev dropped the washing back in the basket.

  ‘Yes. Doctor’s orders: gentle exercise but nothing too strenuous.’

  ‘Lucky you have Patrick to help then. Fortunate that he dropped onto Gull just at the time you needed him.’

  ‘It is,’ said Maisie, wondering if Bev was implying that Patrick’s arrival was some kind of divine intervention.

  ‘And such a strong and capable pair of hands.’

  ‘I suppose he is,’ said Maisie, thinking that Patrick might not have been joking about Bev fancying him. Maisie eyed the knickers flapping in the breeze as Bev pushed her long hair out of her green eyes. The attraction was probably mutual, despite the age difference.

  ‘I meant your hands,’ said Bev.

  ‘Oh … I see … I don’t know about that.’ Maisie flapped around, trying to regain her composure. ‘Um. How are you finding it here on Gull? Isn’t it a bit quiet after the bright lights of St Trenyan?’

  ‘You mean with its wild nightlife and gin joints?’ She laughed. ‘I always enjoy a challenge and the diocese asked me to cover for your previous priest while he has his hip op. I was happy to experience island life in such a beautiful place. It may be small here but I’m never on my own. There’s always someone I need to see or who wants to call in. This is my day off, hence the domestic duties.’ Bev nodded at her eclectic laundry mix flapping in the breeze.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve intruded on your day off. I’ll catch you another time.’

  ‘No, please. No time like the present.’ She smiled. ‘Can I do anything for you in particular?’

  Maisie took a deep breath and launched into her idea for a meeting to discuss Hugo’s takeover plans.

  Bev listened carefully. ‘Of course I’ll attend,’ she said, ‘and I do think that it’s a great idea to gather everyone together, especially if Hugo’s tactic is to divide and conquer. But you need t
o understand that while privately I don’t like Hugo’s tactics any more than you do and would hate to see the soul of Gull destroyed, I have to be seen to be neutral in this business. I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, I understand,’ said Maisie, trying to hide her frustration. She did see that the vicar was in a difficult position. ‘Can I help you finish hanging out the washing?’

  Bev seemed surprised but nodded and Maisie started to peg out a blouse.

  ‘It would be different, of course, if most of the islanders were fighting a hostile takeover of the island,’ Bev said, hanging up a pair of jeans. ‘Hugo can’t do that, can he?’

  ‘No. He already owns a few of the cottages and the gallery and shop, but he needs to buy up at least half a dozen more and get permission to develop them before he can make a significant difference to the character of Gull and turn it into an annexe of Petroc.’

  ‘Is he likely to?’

  Maisie straightened up from the basket, holding a pair of red silky pyjama bottoms in her arms. ‘A couple of years ago, I’d have said never, but times have been tough for everyone. A wet summer, loss of the helicopter service – though it’s supposed to be coming back – and an increase in transport costs. It all adds up and we’re already quite a hard place to reach. It doesn’t take much for people to decide to choose elsewhere for their holidays, no matter how beautiful it looks in the brochures. And in real life, of course.’

  ‘Hmm. I wish there was more I could do. I’ll definitely come to the meeting and I’ll gently try to remind people to look at all sides of the story and not be bullied, but in the end, I suppose that this whole issue comes down to money.’

  Maisie sighed. ‘Yes, and that’s the one thing none of us – apart from Hugo – have got. But it’s also about everyone standing firm against him. I’ve been sounding out a few people discreetly and had the idea that we could form some sort of co-operative to pool our resources and help each other out. I don’t know how it would work, but I’m going to try. The Hell Cove Cottages are in dire need of renovation.’

  ‘Perhaps we can get some kind of working party to help Una and Phyllis?’ said Bev, resuming her pegging out. ‘My brother’s a painter and decorator and I know a few craftspeople from the mainland as well as here. Of course, people already help their neighbours on the islands, but if we had a co-ordinated effort, a schedule of works and ideas – a proper plan – I think we could get a lot more done.’