by Katie Ginger
Miles turned to where she pointed and saw that the paintings Herbert had kept piled up were now hung on the wall. They were all of the sea and something in the largest one caught his eye. It was an oil painting and the paint had been built up layer by layer. The colours of the shingle mixed and overlapped and the blue-green sea clashed with the lilacs, pinks and yellows of the sky. He’d seen that sort of sunset before here, as if some great, powerful creator had knocked a paint palette over and every colour had fallen onto a canvas.
‘It’s beautiful isn’t it?’ a soft voice said from behind him. ‘It’s one of my favourites.’ Without realising it, he’d wandered over to it and Stella had come up behind him.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one before.’
‘It was under all the others at the bottom of the pile. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it. The colours are outstanding.’
Miles found he couldn’t turn away. ‘They are. I wonder why Herbert didn’t put it out.’
‘I thought at first maybe he didn’t like it but when I saw some of the truly awful stuff he was trying to sell I figured he must have just forgotten about it.’
At this he smiled and glanced at Stella. ‘He did have some odd tastes.’
‘He definitely did.’ She laughed. ‘I found a rug with a giant tiger’s face on it in this weird shiny material. It was awful. I nearly kept it for the flat because I couldn’t believe how bad it was. I think my mum had a painting like it over the fireplace when I was little. It must have been an Eighties thing.’
‘Mine too,’ Miles said, turning to face her, remembering the shiny tiger’s face that had pride of place in their living room. Stella’s eyes were a stunning brown, the colour of conkers with flashes of red like autumn leaves. Seeing Kiera approaching in his peripheral vision he pulled his gaze away. ‘Definitely an Eighties thing.’
‘Urgh, that’s ghastly isn’t it?’ Kiera said, as she came to a stop next to Miles, pointing to the beautiful painting.
‘Do you think?’ he asked. Something in the painting had called to his soul and he could picture it hanging in the house.
‘Hell yes. It’s like a child’s painted it and tried to use as many colours as possible. How much are you asking for that?’
A blush appeared on Stella’s cheeks. ‘Three hundred pounds.’
‘Three hundred? I wouldn’t give you ten pounds for that.’ Kiera crossed her arms over her chest and went back to examining the shop. Miles thought it was worth even more.
‘That’s the wonderful thing about art, isn’t it?’ said Stella, moving back to the counter, her voice calm and cheery. ‘Everyone likes different things. And what speaks to one person doesn’t necessarily speak to another.’
Miles nodded his agreement, surprised that her opinion matched his own. ‘Well, we should be going, Kiera.’ It was probably best to move her along before she said something even ruder.
‘Oh, I meant to ask,’ said Kiera, surprising Miles. ‘What are you doing about a website?’
‘A website?’ Stella echoed, her chocolate brown eyes open wide.
‘Yes. You know, online. For the holiday lets and, I suppose, for the shop. Everyone books holidays online these days.’ Kiera’s heels tapped on the floor as she went to the counter.
‘I hadn’t actually thought about it yet. It’s still early days.’
‘You can’t get started too early on something like that.’ Her eyes ran up and down Stella and Miles felt his shoulders stiffen on her behalf. ‘Did you know I’m a personal shopper? Even I’ve got a website.’
‘Shall we get going then, darling?’ he asked quickly, surprised at Kiera. She wasn’t normally this tactless.
‘I didn’t but it sounds an amazing job. A website is the next thing on my to-do list, though,’ Stella replied. ‘Once I’ve sourced a few new bits for the shop.’
Kiera fished in her bag and pulled out her wallet, then extracted a business card. ‘Well, when you do, I know this guy. His name’s Jay and he did mine.’
Miles’s shoulders tensed. Jay Adams was the local heartthrob. He looked like that bloke from Outlander – the tall Scottish one – and had been handsome since he was fifteen. Though they’d gone to different schools they’d played for the same football club as kids and Jay had teased Miles mercilessly about his teenage acne. Miles had been less than impressed when Kiera had hired him to do her website, but frustratingly, he was very good at his job.
Stella took the card. ‘Thanks.’
‘He’s very, very good,’ Kiera said and Miles swallowed down the tension Jay’s name always provoked.
‘That’s really kind of you,’ Stella replied. An easy grin came to her face brightening her expression. ‘Thank you so much. Everyone’s been really friendly. This is such a lovely town.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ said Kiera and with that she headed to the door, taking Miles’s arm as she went. ‘Bye.’
‘Bye,’ Miles repeated, surprised at how friendly Stella had been.
When they were out of earshot and nearly back at the house, Kiera said, ‘Well, she wasn’t what I was expecting. And having a dog in the shop is so … tacky.’
‘What did you expect?’ As Miles opened the small wooden gate leading to their house he didn’t like to admit that Stella hadn’t been what he was expecting either. On balance, he didn’t really know what he’d expected. Someone he didn’t like, he supposed, especially after their first meeting. But Stella Harris was proving very different to how he’d thought she was. As was Kiera. She’d been ruder than he’d ever heard her be before. Her sense of humour could sometimes be a little close to the bone but this had been something different. Perhaps her thoughts had been focused on the wedding and she hadn’t realised how she’d come across. Yes, that must be it.
Kiera scrunched up her nose. ‘I don’t know. I just can’t imagine her charming old Herbert at all. She seems too dull. A bit Plain Jane don’t you think? Are you sure she wasn’t a relation of his or something?’
It was possible. ‘No one said she was.’
‘Well they wouldn’t, would they? They’d just want the quickest sale at the best price.’
Miles said nothing. Kiera’s judgement might be a little harsh but she was right. If Stella hadn’t even thought about the holiday let side of things or built a website she clearly didn’t have a defined business plan. Miles felt the same frustration begin to rise up in him as he thought of all the hours he’d spent working out a sales plan and figuring out how much per square metre the shop was worth and therefore how much per customer he needed to make. He’d decided furniture was the way to go and found some very nice stuff locally. He’d even researched similar holiday lets up and down the coast to compare rates, facilities and how much he needed to spend to get them up to scratch. His jaw tightened at all the wasted hours, the late nights both home and away after long tiring days.
‘Let’s get the calendar out when we get home, darling,’ said Kiera. ‘We can fix a date for next year and I’ll get calling the hotel and the vicar. How do you call a vicar? Do churches even have phones?’
Miles chuckled and slipped his hand into Kiera’s. Life was still moving forward, he reminded himself. With the estate agents looking out for another property it surely wouldn’t be long until he could stop travelling up and down the country. His dream of settling in Swallowtail Bay and one day starting a family would soon become a reality.
Chapter 7
After Miles and Kiera left, Stella fidgeted and fussed. So far all her energy had been put into the shop to ensure some money was coming in, but it would soon be holiday season and she had to be prepared. Kiera was right: she needed some online promotion for the holiday lets. She hadn’t warmed to the woman who had an air of superiority, but then, she didn’t much like Miles either. They were both snooty and suited each other in that respect. She should have known his girlfriend, or fiancée, would be just like him. But she had to admit, Miles’s opinion on the painting had surprise
d her. She’d never imagined he’d have appreciated it. He seemed the nothing was ever good enough type, and she hadn’t expected him to have such emotional depth.
The keys for the holiday lets had been sitting in a glass bowl on the Seventies dresser since she moved in last week. She hadn’t let herself take a proper look yet, worried that if she went in she’d either panic even more that this new venture had been a bad idea, or stress herself out with the work involved. Either one would mean losing focus on the shop and she couldn’t let that happen. The shop had to take priority as it was the easiest source of immediate income. But now that it was mostly under control, Stella could definitely take a look and move on to phase two of her plan: preparing the holiday lets for what she hoped would be a busy summer season. As she tapped her feet, feeling the need to keep moving, it seemed the hours ticked by slowly. When closing time rolled around, Stella unhooked Frank’s lead from the chair and led him into the living room. Excitement tightened Stella’s throat as she scooped the keys from the bowl and raced to have a good look.
Next door to the shop, an old Georgian townhouse had been converted into two apartments. The beautiful arched doorway with its panelled black front door stood out against the white-painted facade of the first flat. Above it, where the upper-floor apartment was, the exposed brickwork with its rich, earthy tones added a touch of period class. A large sash window stood next to the door, and though they were both beautiful they were covered in dust. More things to add to the cleaning list, Stella thought, but she could already picture the door, polished and shiny with two neatly trimmed bay trees in sky-blue pots either side. By the time she was finished, the outside would have regained its elegance and be enticing and welcoming to her visitors.
The front door opened onto a large black-and-white tiled hallway. To the left, a staircase led the way up to the second apartment while next to it, another panelled period door opened onto the one-bedroom flat. Stella let herself into the lower-floor apartment and all her excitement vanished. Though it hadn’t been quite as bad as her own flat, it wasn’t exactly ready to go either. When she’d first viewed it, it had seemed like a thorough clean and some new bedding was all that was required, but it had gone downhill since then. The wonderful period features that had taken her breath away the first time she saw them, including cornicing on the walls and around the ceiling lights, were cobwebbed and dusty. Everywhere there was a general smell of mildew, and the carpeted floor tiles were, for some unknown reason, sticky.
As she entered the kitchen, she could see it hadn’t been cleaned after the last guests had left. Cups lay strewn over the side with blue fuzzy mould growing in them, and the beautiful white porcelain butler’s sink was tea-stained and remnants of food clung on for dear life.
Stella continued her exploration fearing the worst but thankfully, the only bedroom was a pleasant surprise. It needed a dust and a good hoover but apart from the large antique French bed being left in disarray, it was passable. The white bathroom had a romantic, free-standing roll-top bath, though the smell from the drain and the long hairs left in it would kill any romantic notions stone dead. Getting closer, Stella scrunched up her nose at the funny smell coming from the plughole. Suspecting it was blocked and needed a good unclogging with something industrial-strength she’d have to apply wearing a hazmat suit, Stella mentally moved that to top of the list.
The good thing was, everything was white – all the furniture, all the bed linen, all the towels. Well, not quite white. They’d probably been white once, but right now everything had a hint of grey in varying shades. Stella made another mental note to purchase a tub of fabric whitener and empty the entire thing into the bath then chuck as many sheets in as possible. She might have to use her own bath until she cleaned the roll-top one, and leave them to soak for a good day or so, but with any luck, they’d get their colour back. She wasn’t particularly hopeful as, closing the door, she climbed the stairs to the second flat.
The upper-floor apartment had three bedrooms and was more of a family affair with one double bedroom and two bedrooms with twin beds. The furniture was mismatched but seemed to be antiques Herbert had collected over the years. It was less elegant and more homely. Which was a nice way of saying it was an absolute mess. There were old grubby toys scattered all over the floor that looked like they’d been eaten and spat out again. The walls were scuffed and scribbled on and the double bedroom that Stella could imagine tired parents collapsing in after a busy day with the kids was the least relaxing space she’d ever seen. A large lumpy bed squeaked whenever you sat on it, the mattress so old it still had actual wire springs that poked through and tried to kill you in your sleep.
In the other bedrooms the walls were a weird pink colour that boys must hate, and the air was heavy and still. Here and there the same carpet tiles from downstairs were thin and threadbare with floorboards visible beneath. This one was going to need a lot of work, but at least with the high Georgian ceilings and large windows, there was a good amount of light in each room.
As she surveyed her new domain, plans were already forming in Stella’s mind. She’d decided then and there that the following Sunday, when the shop was closed, she was going to come up here with a stack of cleaning materials and scrub everything from top to bottom. The awful, thin carpet tiles were going to be ripped out and the lovely floorboards underneath revealed. Then she’d sand them and either varnish or paint them white. She could use some of the rugs from the shop to cover any stains and maybe even reuse some of the cushions and furnishings. In the kids’ bedrooms the last few ugly crocheted animal cushions might look fun and playful.
Stella closed the door on the holiday lets and her heart pinched at the fact she was doing this on her own. Not long after she and Isaac were married, she’d shared this dream with him and they’d spent an evening making plans of where they’d buy and what sort of property they wanted. On her own, Stella felt the smile of excitement fall from her face as she trudged back to Frank and another night trying to sleep on the living room sofa. As she re-entered the shop, her shop, she gave herself a good stern shake. She was just beginning to live her dream life. And that was something to be eternally grateful for even if she was having to do it on her own.
***
As the sun rose on Wednesday morning, the bright rays poking through the curtains, Stella woke up feeling that mid-week slump. The hard physical work of cleaning the shop and sometimes the stock, and the long hours of the last few days were taking their toll. There’d been a steady stream of customers and she’d managed to sell a few more things, but a lot of her working day was still punctuated by long periods of quiet – just her, Frank and the radio. Luckily, Lexi had said that Wednesdays in Swallowtail Bay were half-day opening. Stella hadn’t thought that happened since the 1950s but apparently Swallowtail Bay was a law unto itself. It could work out well though, she thought, as she could use the afternoon to do all the admin tasks she didn’t have time for in the evenings. Sat at the counter with only an hour till lunch and closing time, a sleepy Frank napping at her feet, Stella studied the screen of her laptop.
‘Look at this one, Frank. It’s very swanky and is just down the road.’ Researching similar holiday let websites was proving fun, seeing what she liked and what might work for her. Frank snored loudly in reply. ‘That’s not very helpful, Franky boy.’ He snored again.
The truth was the shop wasn’t turning out to be as profitable as she’d hoped, even though it was early days. The sooner she got the holiday lets sorted out the better. It wouldn’t be long till she really needed that income. Having bought the place outright she didn’t have a mortgage to worry about, but she still needed to make money to pay the bills and, you know, eat.
‘This one’s gorgeous,’ Stella said to herself as Frank still hadn’t stirred. ‘And it’s much more family-friendly. Look, they’ve turned the kids’ bedroom into a bit of a playroom as well. That’s clever.’ Just as Stella clicked to check out another property, the postman came in, bri
nging her attention back to the present. She trilled a cheery good morning.
‘Here you are,’ he said, handing over a stack of letters then bending down to give Frank a fuss. Frank finally awoke and lifted his head, grateful for the attention.
‘Thanks. How are you today?’
‘Oh, I’m fine, thanks. Just fine.’ Frank rolled onto his back with his paws in the air inviting a tummy rub.
‘You’re such a tart, Frank,’ Stella said, and the postman gave a chuckle as he left.
Stella picked through the pile of letters. Most were bills but one of the envelopes caught her eye. It was much smaller than the others, handwritten, but not in a hand she recognised. Placing the rest of the post on the counter, next to her mug of tea, she slipped a finger underneath the flap and pushed it up. The paper was thick and heavy and slightly scented. As her brain began to catch up with what her eyes were seeing it was like someone had pressed pause on her heart. It stopped then restarted with a double beat that made her breath come and go in uneven bursts. It was an invitation. And not a party invitation. There were no balloons or stars, or little silhouetted champagne bottles. There was only one person who would send her an invitation like this. Stella’s throat tightened.
Together with their families,
Isaac and Ellie request the pleasure of
Stella and guest
at their marriage on
Saturday, 12th May at 1.30 p.m.
St Margaret’s Church, St Margaret’s Road, Oxford
followed by a reception at Henley Court Farmhouse
RSVP to Isaac and Ellie at [email protected]
Stella felt her mouth fall slowly open and dry out. She took a deep breath in as tears stung her eyes. So they had made it last after all. Ellie had been the one Isaac had got with straight after their split a year ago. How could they be getting married when they’d been together for less than a year? All the hurt and anguish Stella had endured came flooding back in a great wave that made her recoil.
