by Jenny Kane
Beth’s flat was the top floor of her grandfather’s old shop, and sat above her gallery, where Abi also worked, as resident artist and general helper-out. Now, lounging back against the sofa, Abi took a sustaining gulp of tea.
‘Women like my new neighbour made my life in London miserable. I thought I’d left them all behind after Luke died, and now one’s moved in next door – or at least sort of has. I think it was the linen that offended her the most. She went on about “how dare I think she’d come so unprepared”, then with a tiny overnight holdall in her hand, which can’t possibly have contained any bedding, she slammed the door and marched towards the village to find a hotel room.’
Incensed on Abi’s behalf, Beth said, ‘Well, I hope she can’t find one, and ends up back at the cottage sleeping on damp sheets!’
‘The cottage has been empty and unaired for so long that the sheets could well be damp and mildewed too. Especially after such a cold winter.’ Abi took a biscuit from the tin that Beth was holding out to her. ‘Half of me hopes she can’t find one as well, but the other half hopes she does. The less time she spends next door, the better, as far as I’m concerned.’
Beth sank down onto the sofa next to her friend. Putting the open biscuit tin between them, she proceeded to munch her way through a cookie as she said, ‘If she’s as high-powered as you suspect, then she’ll probably get a taxi to take her to one of the big hotels in Penzance.’
‘Possibly. When I spoke to Maggie, she said she couldn’t say much because her boss was listening, but from what I gathered it’s not so weird that she doesn’t seem keen to live there. She’s been sent by someone else to get the place ready as a holiday let. So at least I’ll be spared her actually moving in permanently.’
Abi sighed again. ‘I honestly can’t decide if that’s better or worse. The last thing I want is a constant stream of City types moving in and out, all thinking they want to escape the pressures of London while simultaneously complaining that the Internet doesn’t work.’ She grabbed another biscuit. ‘Although I suppose that’s better than having a woman who reminds me of that dreadful local wives’ group Luke forced me to join. They were all perfect and sterile and made me feel inadequate with just one pursing of their expensively glossed lips.’
Crunching her ginger nut, Beth was thoughtful. ‘It does sound a bit strange though. You said Maggie told you the woman was under the impression that the house had been rented, not bought.’
‘She didn’t come across as the sort of woman who makes mistakes.’ Abi put her mug on the table in front of them. ‘Come to think of it, she didn’t come across like the sort of person you’d send to do up a house either. I can’t imagine her rolling up her sleeves and grabbing the soda crystals and a pair of rubber gloves.’
‘She could be the sort of person to write a list, though, and then get other people in to scrub the walls and repaint the ceilings.’
‘You may well be right.’
‘Talking of decorating, how’s Max? I haven’t seen him this week.’
Abi’s frown instantly gave way to a smile as she thought about her boyfriend. ‘He’s great, thanks. Working on a bathroom over in St Ives. The guy employing him is on a deadline to get his place done up before the summer season, so Max is working long hours, and then crashing out in one of the guest rooms there until he’s finished. It’s saving him a fortune in petrol, but the phone signal is crap. It’s weird not talking to him all the time, but he’ll be back in Sennen soon. How’s Jacob? Any luck finding a new studio?’
Beth’s partner, Jacob, had been searching for a suitable new pottery studio ever since he’d officially moved in with her four months earlier, although he had more or less lived in Beth’s flat since the day they’d got together the previous August.
Pulling a face, Beth fished for a second biscuit. ‘Not so far. We’ve seen a few, but they’re all too far away. He might as well keep using the one in Hayle until the lease is up in October. Ideally we want to find a place around here before then.’
‘I’ll keep asking the artists that are booked into the gallery, not to mention those who phone up for future bookings. You never know, someone might know of somewhere suitable.’
‘Thanks, Abi.’ Beth stood up and brushed her crumb-covered fingers down her jeans. ‘Fancy a pizza? I’m starving.’
‘It’s only 4.30!’
‘I know. It’s end-of-term syndrome. The kids are either hyper at the thought of moving on to big school after the holidays, or they’re totally knackered after a term of preparing for the same thing. Jollying them along, calming them down, and reassuring them all at once can take it out of me sometimes – and makes me hungry!’
‘I bet!’ Abi pushed herself off the comfort of the sofa. ‘I can’t stay, though. I’m having dinner with Stan tonight. It’s time for our fortnightly dinner date.’
‘Crikey, have two weeks passed already? How’s he doing in the old folks’ home?’
Abi laughed. ‘Well, apart from hating that people call it a home when it’s a set of independent apartments, Stan told me on our last catch-up that, and I quote, he’s as “happy as a sandboy”.’
‘That’s good.’ ‘I think the only thing he misses is having Sadie around.’
‘I’m not surprised. The dog was the only company he had for years. Are you taking her with you tonight?’
‘Stan would kill me if I didn’t!’
Abi and Sadie waited patiently for Stan to open the door to his flat for their dinner date. They had first met when Abi had given into her curiosity and knocked on the door of Stan’s home, Abbey’s House, which had been the house of her dreams for over twenty years – ever since she’d seen its prophetic name on a family holiday when she was eight. Abi and Stan had formed a firm friendship, and she’d ended up buying Stan’s home from him the previous September.
As the front door opened, Sadie pushed her nose against her former owner’s legs, and Stan beamed his ever-ready smile at his visitors as he affectionately ruffled the golden retriever’s fur.
‘How are two of my favourite girls then?’
‘Well, Sadie here is just fine.’ Abi unfastened Sadie’s lead and followed Stan through the hallway into his small open-plan living and dining room. ‘But I’m. . .’
About to tell Stan about her new neighbour, Abi abruptly stopped talking as she realised they weren’t alone.
Stan’s grin became even broader, as he turned from Abi to the lady on the sofa, and back again. ‘Dora, may I introduce you to my very dear friend, Abi Carter. Abi, this is Dora Henry. And this beautiful creature is Sadie.’
Temporarily silent, Abi quickly came to her senses. ‘Hello, Dora, I’m very pleased to meet you. You’re Stan’s bridge partner, isn’t that right?’
‘I’m a bit more than that, I hope.’ Dora winked at Stan, and Abi felt discomfort ripple up her spine as she noticed that the table was laid for three and not two as usual.
Abi was spared from saying anything for a moment, as Dora said, ‘I’ve heard so much about you. I’ve been dying to meet you. I hope you’re OK with me gatecrashing your dinner?’
‘Of course!’ Abi wasn’t sure if she minded or not, but her inbuilt politeness had automatically engaged, and anyway, she wouldn’t want to upset Stan for the world. Right now he was looking more proud than she’d ever seen him. ‘I’ve heard plenty about you, too. I believe you’re the terror of the bridge club!’
‘Dora is something of a card shark,’ Stan said with a twinkle in his eye.
Dora laughed. ‘I shall overlook that dubious accusation, seeing as you’re being so generous as to feed me, Stanley Abbey.’ Then, speaking more seriously, she said, ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Abi, but if you object to me stealing some of your alone time with Stan, then I’m more than happy to disappear.’
‘Not at all.’ Abi found her natural curiosity kicking in about this small, elegant woman in Stan’s living room. ‘Shall I put the kettle on, Stan?’
‘It’s already
on, Abi my girl. I tell you what, I’ll leave you two chatting, and I’ll make the tea and get Sadie some water.’
Watching Stan disappear into the kitchen, Abi sat next to Dora. ‘I’m pleased to have the chance to meet some of Stan’s friends.’
‘As am I.’ Dora focused her pale green eyes on Abi kindly. ‘Stan always keeps you all to himself. He’s very protective of you, Abi.’
Abi’s initial disquiet at Dora’s presence eased as Dora received the Sadie seal of approval. The dog, as if sensing Abi needed reassurance, padded across the room, and placed her chin on a delighted Dora’s knees.
‘You, my lovely,’ Dora stroked the retriever’s golden back, ‘are also at the top of Stan’s list to talk about. And who can blame him? Not many blokes his age have two beautiful females as regular visitors.’
Abi wasn’t sure what to say as she looked at Dora, who, although almost as old as Stan himself, retained the air of a classic beauty. The tone of her words was gentle, and Abi detected no sarcasm or jealousy, but there was something. . . something Abi couldn’t put her finger on, that was hanging unsaid in the air.
Deciding she was being ridiculous, Abi asked, ‘How long have you been living at Chalk Towers, Dora?’
‘Five years this coming Christmas.’ Dora’s warm smile lit up her eyes as Stan walked about in with a tray of tea, and the unease Abi had felt instantly returned.
They aren’t. . . are they?
Hoping she was letting her imagination run away with her, Abi stuck firmly to small talk. ‘Do you like it here?’
‘I love it. I wasn’t sure at first. It was a bit of a gamble for me. Like you, I’m not a local girl, but I had so many happy memories associated with Cornwall that I decided to retire here.’
With one eye on Stan as he sat down and served the tea, knowing he would never have invited Dora to join them if he wasn’t very fond of her, Abi said, ‘I take it Stan has told you how I ended up living in his house?’
‘It’s your house now, Abi.’ Stan passed her a mug.
‘True – but it took ages before I stopped feeling like I’d evicted you.’
Stan regarded his young friend. ‘I’ve said it before, and no doubt I’ll have to say it again, but this is the best thing I’ve done in years. I was so lost after my Mary passed away. You did me a favour, Abi, coming along when you did.’
Abi squeezed his hand, and passed a cup and saucer to Dora. ‘Do you take sugar?’
‘She’s sweet enough without!’ Stan said.
Abi was about to laugh at the old cliché, but the expression on Dora’s face stopped her. There was no doubt about it – her suspicions had been correct. Wishing that Max was with her, Abi didn’t know what to say, but she did know that this wasn’t going to be the evening when she shared her fears about the cottage next door.
Dora peered shrewdly at Abi from over the top of her cup as she took a sip of tea. Then, patting the space on the sofa next to her, she beckoned Abi to sit back down. ‘We were going to tell you after dinner, but judging by how pale you’ve gone, I’d say you’ve already guessed. Stan said you were clever.’
Stan patted his faithful dog’s fur for luck and said, ‘Abi, I have something very exciting to tell you.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes.’ Reaching out, Stan took hold of his bridge partner’s hand. ‘Dora and I have decided to get married.’
Chapter Three
Beth slipped the last of the completed school reports into her bag, and smiled across the kitchen table to where Jacob sat with his laptop, ordering a new range of glazes for his ceramics business.
‘Have you decided which of your pots you’re going to exhibit in the gallery in August?’
‘I think so.’ Jacob glanced up from the screen. ‘That’s why I want these new glazes. I thought I’d try a few new colour schemes, with a slightly different style, and see if the tourists go for them. Although,’ he lifted up the collection of estate agents’ particulars he had on the table next to him, ‘if I can’t find a new studio soon, then they’ll be the last new pieces for a while. I’m going to have to work like stink in order to build up enough stock to tide us over if I can’t find anywhere new by October.’
Beth couldn’t help feeling guilty. If it hadn’t been for her, then Jacob wouldn’t have been hunting for a new studio in the first place.
Almost a year ago Beth, with Abi’s help, had turned the cobbler’s shop she’d inherited from her grandfather into the Art and Sole gallery. Jacob had taken up her invitation to be the first visiting artist for her new enterprise, and it had been lust at first sight. A feeling that had resulted in Jacob never managing to go home for more than a change of clothes. Their lust had quickly grown into a love that had shocked them both with its arrival. He’d been happy potting away at his current place in Hayle for years, building up a stock of stunning ceramics, before that wonderful, fateful day.
‘You OK, Beth?’ Jacob reached a hand across the table. ‘I wasn’t complaining about having to move the studio, it’s just proving a bit harder to find something suitable than I thought it would.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind? I feel bad about you having to leave your lovely studio because of me.’
‘It isn’t because of you, it’s because the drive to work during the tourist season is a nightmare. Anyway, now I’ve given up my home over there, it seems mad to commute to Hayle if I don’t have to.’
Beth pointed at the studio specs on the table. ‘Any of those any good?’
‘One of them is possible. It’s in St Just, which makes it handy distance-wise. I thought I’d go and see it tomorrow.’ Jacob pushed the relevant paperwork across the table and went to the fridge to get them both a bottle of lager.
Beth read the specs carefully. ‘It looks lovely, but isn’t it a bit small on the storage side?’
‘It would be a bit of a squeeze if I made the volume of stuff I do now, but I thought, if you didn’t mind, that I could keep any overflow in the gallery store downstairs.’
‘Of course you could. You could always display your work in the gallery full-time, you know.’
Jacob sighed in his girlfriend’s direction; they’d had this discussion more times than he cared to remember. ‘Beth, the whole point of your gallery is that Abi works there all the time, so that people can see an artist in action, and then, on the other side of the gallery, you have a turnover of fresh art each month. If my stuff was always there, that freshness would be lost, and people wouldn’t come back every four weeks to see what treasures you have for sale this time.’
‘I guess you’re right. Abi tells me we’ve started to get regular visitors who always nip by to see what’s new.’ Beth took a swig of lager. ‘Talking of which, when I was checking the schedule of who was booked to come over the next six months, I noticed you’ve already nabbed August for next year. The main month of the season!’
‘Perk of the gallery manager being one of my best friends – and of sleeping with the boss!’ Jacob shut down his laptop. ‘Talking of which,’ he put down his bottle, ‘I think it’s time I reminded myself of just how good your lips taste. . .’
‘I’ve just realised something.’ Beth sat up in bed the following morning, instantly distracting Jacob as the sheet slipped from her grip.
‘Uh?’
Beth laughed, ‘Honestly, Jacob, you’ve seen it all before! I said I’ve just realised something.’
‘Sorry.’ Jacob reluctantly dragged his eyes upwards, a teasing expression on his face. ‘What have you realised?’
‘Next month it will be a year since Abi came to Cornwall. If it hadn’t been for her, there’d be no gallery. We should do something to celebrate.’
Pulling himself into his potting overalls, Jacob agreed. ‘That’s a great idea. Do you think we should do something for her, or combine it with some sort of shindig for the first anniversary of Art and Sole?’
‘I hadn’t even got as far as thinking about that. It’s all happened so fast, and yet
at the same time it feels as if Abi and the gallery have always been around.’
‘Well, I for one am very glad Max found her. If Abi hadn’t got lost looking for Sennen the first time she drove down here, and Max hadn’t given her directions, then the gallery might never have happened – and I wouldn’t be sharing a bedroom with a wantonly dishevelled primary school teacher.’
Beth stuck her tongue out as she got up. ‘I’ll call Max later. He’s bound to want to celebrate as well. We could have a meal out together to mark Abi’s anniversary, and then maybe a party at the gallery in September too.’
‘Sounds good.’ Jacob kissed Beth with enthusiasm before turning to the door. ‘I have to get going. I want to get the kiln filled before I go to St Just for the viewing. Do you want me to put some milk on for your porridge before I go?’
‘Oh no, thanks.’ Beth pulled a face. ‘I don’t think that lager agreed with me last night. Think I’ll give breakfast a miss this morning.’
Jacob frowned; Beth usually had the constitution of an elephant. ‘You OK?’
‘Fine. It’s end-of-year stress. I’m always like this as July approaches and I have to wave my little ones off to turn into proper schoolchildren.’ Beth gave him a further reassuring kiss. ‘Off you go. Good luck with the studio.’
Beth crossed her fingers as she made her way to the shower. A studio in St Just, which was only five miles away, would be perfect.
‘Max? Where on earth are you?’ Beth had to strain her ears to hear her oldest friend. It sounded as though he was answering the phone underwater.
‘I was testing that the shower I’ve just installed works. It’s one of those walk-in wet rooms, and it echoes like mad. Hang on.’
Beth could hear clanging in the background, and had the impression that Max was hitting something with a hammer, when suddenly her friend was back.
‘Sorry about that. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of a lunchtime phone call? Aren’t you supposed to be on junior crowd control?’
‘Just done my half an hour in the playground, and I have the headache to prove it!’
