by Jenny Kane
Chapter Twelve
Knocking on the door to number two Miners Row, Abi felt awkward. She couldn’t stop Beth’s voice echoing in her ears, telling her how much Cassandra sounded like Lucinda, Max’s ex. If a shoulder to cry on was required, though, she’d rather it was her shoulder Cassandra cried on, and not Max’s.
‘Abi? Hello. Again.’ Cassandra had changed into less summery clothes, and was rubbing her arms as if she was cold, despite the gorgeous burgundy fleece jumper she wore, which Abi knew would have cost more than the average person’s monthly wage. The dark shadows that underlined Cassandra’s eyes had almost been hidden by a good concealer, and if she hadn’t seen her earlier, Abi might have thought Max had been exaggerating her neighbour’s distressed state.
Nor sure where to start, she decided to take a leaf out of Stan’s book, and dived straight in with a big smile. ‘I hope you don’t mind me interrupting, I just wondered if you wanted to escape for a while.’
‘Escape?’
‘Well, you’d be doing me a favour actually.’ Abi found herself rubbing her own arms as if in sympathy with her unseasonably cold neighbour. ‘I run the Art and Sole Gallery in the village. This month’s display has to be taken down. Max was going to help me, but he wants to get on with clearing your front garden and ordering in your paint so he can crack on with the decorating the minute his current job is done.’
Cassandra was openly amazed. ‘You run that gorgeous studio gallery on the corner of the Cove?’
‘A little less shock in your voice would be nice, but yes, my friend Beth owns it and I manage it for her. Have you been in?’
‘No, I haven’t, although I’ve passed it. I haven’t had the chance to go in yet.’
Abi could tell Cassandra was undecided whether to go with her or not, so she pushed her advantage home. ‘I know it’s an awful cheek to ask you when we don’t know each other, but if Max can make a start here. . .’
Cassandra didn’t wait for Abi to finish her sentence. The possibility of being out of Cornwall and back in London even a day sooner was a chance worth taking. ‘I’ll get my bag. Do I need anything else?’
‘Not a thing. Thanks, Cassandra, I appreciate it.’
Stopping just long enough to leave a spare set of keys to number two with Max, and for Cassandra to ask if he’d check whether the larder door should be saved or replaced, the women walked down the lane towards town, each frantically wondering what on earth they could talk about.
Not wanting the silence to become uneasy, Abi adopted what she assumed would be safe conversational ground.
‘Beautiful here, isn’t it?’ She pointed out across the unfurling view as the seascape came into sight.
‘Do you think so?’ Cassandra sounded far from convinced.
Abi stared at her companion in astonishment. She’d never come across anyone who had to stop and consider whether the sparkling sea and yellow sand, backed by stunningly rugged rocks, was beautiful or not. ‘You don’t?’
‘It’s just the seaside, isn’t it? I mean, the sand gets everywhere, and it’s never terribly relaxing, what with non-private school children being on holiday pretty much all the time these days.’
Abi opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She had absolutely no idea what to say as Cassandra expanded her point.
‘I mean, look at those overflowing rubbish bins, and the seagulls fighting over those fish and chip papers. And don’t even get me started on the smell.’
‘Smell?’ Confusion crossed from Abi’s expression into her voice.
‘Salty air and boat oil.’
Abi took a surreptitious sniff. There was a hint of oil in the air, she supposed, but then, they were near the harbour, so it would have been odd if there wasn’t. And of course there was salt in the air. It was the coast!
Cassandra glanced at Abi and started to laugh. It was a sound that fell halfway between genuine amusement and hysteria. ‘I’m sorry, Abi. I’m not laughing at you; it’s just that I’ve never seen anyone gobsmacked before. Why does everyone look like that when they meet a person who isn’t keen on the seaside? It can’t be that rare, surely?’
‘Well, I. . .’ Abi shrugged. ‘I guess if you choose to live by the sea, it must always seem odd that other people wouldn’t want to live there as well. Especially when so many people can’t wait to escape to the coast for a break from everyday life.’
‘And that’s fine for them. I understand the need for a radical change of scene every now and then, but it isn’t the coast that does that for me. I love picturesque villages and little boutiques, antique shops, and galleries. I even found a wonderful shabby chic furniture place in Truro, which I could have spent years in, but the actual seaside. . .no thanks!’
‘So if I said let’s go for a sit on the sand after we’ve finished, the answer would be. . .?’
‘A very loud and clear “no thank you”.’
‘A walk over the cliffs?’
‘More tempting, but only on a sunny day and with the offer of a cup of coffee, or maybe a gin and tonic, at the other end.’
Abi’s good humour returned. ‘Now you’re talking. How about a trip to the outdoor theatre near Penzance sometime?’
Cassandra’s smile met her eyes for the first time since Abi had called at her front door. ‘The theatre, I love. Even if it’s only regional. Did you go much when you lived in London?’
Deciding to ignore the gibe, Abi swallowed hard. She had been hoping to avoid talking about her life in London, but now Cassandra had begun to soften, albeit only a little bit, she didn’t want to ruin it. It was beginning to appear as if Sennen was to Cassandra what London was to Abi.
‘I did, yes, I was very lucky. I was taken to visit the West End at least once a month.’
‘You don’t miss it? The West End musicals, the plays, all the restaurants, wine bars, the department stores so nearby, all the museums, the sheer convenience of everything?’
‘Not at all,’ Abi pointed to the seascape, ‘but I’d miss that if I went back. You can see a Debenhams anywhere, but that view. . .it’s only here.’
Cassandra nodded. ‘I understand that. It isn’t my thing, but I totally get it.’
Abi fished the keys to Art and Sole from her jeans pocket. ‘Well, let’s see if I can’t persuade you that there is one good thing about the village. Come inside my arty world.’
Cassandra felt shame flush her cheeks. ‘Oh God, I am so bad at this.’ She hung back from walking into the gallery. ‘I’m not making excuses for seeming all dismissive of this place, Abi, but I’ve had an awful few days, and well. . .let’s just say if the streets of Sennen were paved with gold then you would still have a hard time selling it to me right now. I’m not anti-Cornwall, I promise – I’m just not at home.’
Breathing an invisible sigh of relief, Abi realised her hands had begun to tremble like they used to when she anticipated her late husband’s displeasure. She was about to explain how the gallery worked, when Cassandra got in first.
‘Oh, this is wonderful! You work here?’
‘Yes. There, in fact.’ Abi pointed to her chair by the easel and work station on the studio side of the room, before turning on the lights and pulling down the blinds so that they could take down the display without being watched by strolling tourists and curious locals.
‘You’re an artist?’
‘I’m a children’s book illustrator. I could work anywhere, but when I moved down here I had the good fortune to meet Max, and then his best friend, Beth. She inherited this place from her grandfather. It was his cobbler’s shop until she converted it last year.’
‘Hence “Art and Sole”, as in shoes?’
‘Exactly. Beth and her partner live upstairs.’
Cassandra drifted over to the quilts. ‘These are exquisite. Do they really have to come down?’
Pleased that at least her taste in textiles met with her new neighbour’s approval, Abi said, ‘I’m afraid so. Each exhibitor rents the space for a month. As
you can see from the red stickers by so many of them, they did well with sales.’
Cassandra ran a finger over one of the red spots next to the rectangular card of notes the artists had placed next to each quilt, which explained its source of inspiration and title. ‘It’s like a real gallery.’
Abi winced. ‘Excuse me? I think you’ll find this is a real gallery.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘I’m sorry you’re stuck in a place you don’t want to be, Cassandra, I know how that feels, and it’s horrible, but we aren’t keeping you here. You don’t come across as if you’re exactly poverty-stricken. I’m sure that if you genuinely wanted to leave you could up sticks and flee to the nearest place that suits you. So why don’t you?’
Cassandra opened her mouth to fire back that that was precisely what she wanted to do, but her usual self-righteousness had deserted her. One glimpse at Abi’s offended face robbed her of all her indignation. Crashing onto the viewing sofa in the middle of the room, she burst into a new round of tears.
She couldn’t believe what was happening. Not even Justin had seen her cry. Not once. She was Cassandra Henley-Pinkerton and she did not cry. She was always in control. Always. She was secure in her looks, her abilities, and her intelligence.
Or she had been.
Justin had stolen all of that.
Abi only watched her visitor for a second before her generous heart got the better of her. Picking up the box of tissues she normally used for dabbing at stray runs of paint, she passed them to Cassandra.
Speaking far more calmly than she felt, Abi said, ‘You’ve insulted my home and my gallery. You might as well tell me why. If we’re going to be neighbours, even if only for a while, it’ll make life a lot easier if I understand why you’re being such a bitch.’
Cassandra turned to her host. ‘Why haven’t you just thrown me out?’
‘Because I suffer from chronic niceness. It’s a real pain in the arse, but totally incurable.’
The Londoner shook her head in disbelief. ‘As you’ve probably worked out, I suffer from no such ailment. Perhaps it would be better if I did.’
Abi got up again and fetched the emergency bottle of wine she and Beth kept in the small fridge beneath the counter, along with two glasses. ‘So, talk to me.’
Feeling so far out of her emotional depth that she wasn’t sure where to start, Cassandra gulped and began to tell her story. How she’d met Justin, about their affair, how she had given him joint legal power over her business, and how they’d started to plan a future together. Then she told Abi why they’d got the house in Cornwall, and how she was only supposed to be there to do the place up while he secured his promotion and told his wife he wanted a divorce.
‘At least, that’s why I thought I was here.’
‘Ah. And you are really here because?’
‘It appears I’ve been sent here so that Justin could steal my business from under me while I wasn’t looking, ruining my life, career, and reputation all in one go.’ Cassandra took a large mouthful of wine before adding, ‘And yet, I can’t quite accept it.’
‘Or you don’t want to believe it?’
Cassandra rubbed a hand over her temples. ‘Only a few days ago he was talking about marriage. Justin can be a money-grabbing toad sometimes, and he is very materialistic, but this. . .it doesn’t seem in character, somehow. It’s too cowardly for him.’
‘You think if he wanted to break up with you he’d say so, rather than dragging things out?’
‘Exactly. I also think if he wanted me to sell my business he’d tell me. He’s the biggest shareholder, he’d do very well out of it without having to risk stealing from me. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘What does Justin have to say about this?’
‘He isn’t answering my calls or replying to my texts. Apparently he’s in the US.’
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
‘I’m not. His PA, Crystal, would do anything to protect him.’
‘You think she fancies him?’
‘She always has.’
Abi took another gulp of her wine before brushing her hands decisively down her jeans and approaching the first quilt. ‘I may regret this. But it’s possible I know someone who could help, or at least someone who would know the right person to discover if Justin is still in London or not.’
‘You do?’
‘Less disbelief and more gratitude would be good here, Cassandra.’
‘Sorry.’ Appearing as contrite as she sounded, Cassandra got up and helped support the first quilt as Abi took it off its wall fixings. ‘Ever since I got to Cornwall I’ve been a bit. . .I don’t know how to describe it.’
‘Unpleasant?’
‘Um, yes. . . although I meant overwhelmed. It’s so friendly, everyone listens, and no one seems in competition with anyone else. It’s taking a bit of getting used to.’
‘Yes, I can see that. But if you want us to help you, you’re going to have to unbend a bit. Be pleasant. I’m sure you can do that!’ Abi softened a little. ‘When you don’t go all city slicker, you seem quite nice!’
Feeling thoroughly told off, Cassandra said meekly, ‘I’ll try.’
By the time all the quilts were down, secured in their protective bubble-wrap jackets, and those that had been sold were double wrapped in attractive tissue paper ready for the new owners to collect, Abi had explained to Cassandra all about Luke, her life working in London, and her quest to find Abbey’s House, as well as peace and quiet, in Cornwall.
‘I was so lucky that Stan was the owner. I’m sure no one else would have let me and Max cross the threshold in the first place.’
Cassandra smoothed a hand over the final quilt. ‘That was fun. Thanks for asking me to help.’
Abi looked at her. ‘Did you really enjoy doing that?’
‘Yes, I did. I’m quite surprised at myself to be honest. I had loads of fun at that shop in Truro as well.’
‘I think we may have more in common than we think we do.’ Abi smiled. ‘Would you like me to see if I can make some enquiries in London, then?’
‘Do you truly know people who could help?’
‘I’m not sure, but I know people who are well connected with the money side of things in the City. I don’t like them, but I know them.’
‘Who?’
‘My former brother-in-law for one.’ Abi trembled as she thought about Simon Carter, the man who had tried to convince her to marry him directly after his brother’s death just so Luke’s money could be kept in the family. ‘I can’t stand the man, though, and Max hates him.’
‘Why would you do that for me?’
‘Because I think you are a much better person than you pretend to be.’
Cassandra stood and stared at Abi. She had absolutely no idea what to say.
‘But for goodness’ sake don’t tell Max, he’d go mad if he thought I’d called Simon. And while you’re at it, phone Jo in Truro. Her reputation is excellent. Book some lessons in furniture restoration. If you’re going to be trapped here for a bit, then take the chance to learn new skills. You never know, we might even convert you to liking sand.’
Cassandra laughed. ‘You’re very kind, Abi, but that may be one miracle too far.’
Chapter Thirteen
Leaving Cassandra on her own, Abi picked up her mobile and went outside. She took a few gulps of the sea air she loved so much. Just the thought of making contact with Simon was making her feel nauseous.
Why did you offer to do this?
Abi stared across the part of the cove that was just visible at the far edge of the horizon. Was she doing this simply because she wanted Cassandra to love this place as much as she did?
Not for the first time, Abi wished that her craving to make everything OK for everyone wasn’t so strong. Max would never understand her risking getting back in touch with Simon; especially for a virtual stranger. The last time they’d seen each other, Max had punched Simon on the jaw, and as Max was the most laid-back man on the pl
anet, it had taken one hell of a lot of provocation for that to happen. Which just went to show what a horrible man Simon was capable of being.
There has to be another way. . . Abi stared at her phone for a minute, then, taking another deep breath, placed a call she hadn’t thought she’d ever make again. Not to Simon, but to Luke’s old office. It was already after six o’clock in the evening, but unless things had changed in the last year, Abi was sure the office would still be occupied – and hopefully by Luke’s former PA, Sasha, who had always worked until seven, such was her dread of missing something.
‘Good evening, Mr Williams’ office, how may I help you?’
‘Hello, is that Sasha?’
The answering voice was hesitant on hearing the use of her first name. ‘Yes, can I help?’
‘Umm, Sasha, it’s Abi. Abi Carter, I’m not sure if you remember me?’
‘Abi! Of course I remember you. Where are you? There’s a rumour going round that you’ve gone native. Slimy Simon was trying to convince everyone you’d been committed through grief at one point, but no one bought that.’
‘He did what!’ Abi felt anger bubble up, and then brushed it away. He wasn’t worth it. ‘Yes, that sounds like Simon. I can assure you, I’m perfectly sane. I just didn’t want to marry him, that’s all.’ She relaxed a fraction. ‘I love that you call him Slimy Simon. Very suitable!’
‘Trust me, you aren’t the only trophy he’s chased over the years.’ Sasha spoke more quietly, presumably aware of the chances of being overheard. ‘I did wonder if it was hurt male pride. It was always obvious he coveted his brother’s wife.’
The PA’s voice was laced far more with curiosity than pleasure, but at least, Abi thought, Sasha hasn’t put the phone down on me. ‘Well, I can assure you that I’m not at all deranged, but I am after some information for a friend.’
‘Go on?’
‘Do you know a lawyer called Justin Smythe? He works for Family Values.’
Sasha didn’t even pause. ‘The company I’ve heard of. His name doesn’t mean anything though. Can I ask around the office, or is this confidential?’
