A Match Made in Devon

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘What on earth?’ muttered Theo, dashing for the door.

  The Mercedes had been joined in the courtyard by a mud-splattered Land Rover. The heated voices – and a very insistent yap – were coming from the rear of Beaver’s Barn.

  Theo and I dashed over. A middle-aged man in camouflage trousers, a beige gilet covered in pockets and a khaki hat resembling an upturned plant pot was scrambling around the newly laid terrace trying to catch a small excited dog. Meanwhile, our lady guest had flung one leg over the wall, presumably to escape the dog’s advances, and appeared to be stuck.

  ‘I could have been naked!’ she said indignantly, pointing at the man.

  ‘Thank heavens for small mercies,’ muttered Theo, furrowing his eyebrows as he helped her unstraddle the stone wall.

  ‘Can I help you?’ I turned to the man, who by now had the little dog under his arm. ‘Are you lost?’

  ‘I’m Bruce Nutley,’ he said, and patted the dog’s head. ‘And this is Tiger. She’s not dangerous. Her name is ironic.’

  ‘Bruce?’ I looked from him to Theo. ‘Nutley?’

  He nodded. ‘You were expecting me … Here’s the confirmation email.’ He pulled a folded sheet of paper from one of his many pockets.

  ‘Hello, Bruce,’ I said with a gulp. I extended a hand but the dog’s head lunged at me so I retreated. ‘I’m Ni—’

  ‘Kate,’ said the woman from behind Theo, whom she was using as a shield from the dog. ‘You’re Kate Fletcher, we spoke on the phone when I enquired whether the cottage was available, remember, and you said it was free? I’m Penelope Jensen. But when I called to confirm my booking you didn’t pick up. Hence me paying cash when I arrived.’

  Theo gave a low moan and my heart sank. Just when everything was going so well …

  ‘Double-booked, are we?’ Bruce chuckled. ‘Never mind, no need to make a fuss, I’ll just take the cottage next door.’

  ‘It’s not ready,’ said Theo.

  ‘Neither is the other one,’ I added.

  ‘Ah. In that case,’ said Bruce, looking Penelope up and down, ‘maybe you and I could bunk up?’

  Penelope’s nostrils flared. ‘What sort of a woman do you think I am?’

  Bruce sneezed and put the dog down to take a handkerchief out of his pocket to blow his nose. Tiger instantly lunged at Penelope, who gave a yelp and leapt on to Theo’s back piggy-back style.

  The heavy sort, Theo mouthed to me with a wince.

  Having obviously decided there was nothing worth barking at, Tiger came and sat at my feet and offered me her paw.

  ‘She’s quite safe,’ said Bruce, trumpeting into his handkerchief. ‘She doesn’t have any teeth.’

  I bent down to pet her and she licked my hands gently. Penelope slid slowly to the floor. Tiger trotted meekly over to her and leaned against her leg affectionately.

  ‘You are quite a dear little thing, I suppose,’ Penelope conceded.

  Theo and I looked at each other; it was like Groundhog Day – yet more confusion over bookings.

  ‘Penelope, Bruce, there has been a terrible misunderstanding …’ began Theo heavily. He went on to explain that only one booking had been recorded but that Beaver’s Barn did have two double rooms and although it was highly unorthodox, and he totally understood if they said no, would they consider sharing the cottage?

  ‘And allow us to refund—’

  ‘Half of your money,’ I put in quickly before Theo gave away all the week’s earnings. ‘And dinner tonight is on us.’

  ‘Deal,’ said Bruce, grinning happily. ‘Every little helps. Now let me get my easel out of the car.’

  ‘Hold on a minute, this was meant to be a personal retreat for me, a chance to commune with nature—’ Penelope interrupted herself with a gasp and her eyes lit up. ‘Wait! Did you say easel? Are you an artist too?’

  Chapter 10

  They say love conquers all. In this case, a mutual love of art was able to overcome Penelope’s resistance to sharing a cottage with Bruce and Tiger, and they were getting on like a house on fire. Mind you, it wasn’t entirely plain sailing to begin with.

  For one thing, Bruce was a vegan while Penelope wasn’t keen on vegetables, which made our dinner menu a challenge. And they quickly found out the next morning when they set up their easels that they had quite a different approach to painting: Bruce laid out all his oil paints neatly and chose a quiet spot near the trees with the gentle strains of Classic FM in the background. In fact, dressed in his signature khaki and beige, we could neither see nor hear him. At the other end of the scale, when Penelope decamped to the centre of the field directly behind the cottages, everyone knew about it. Guns N’ Roses blared out from a wireless speaker while she swirled bright slashes of turquoise, red and orange paint on anything that dared to stray into her vicinity, including a duck, two hens, Theo’s trainers and, most unfortunately, Tiger.

  But after Penelope apologized, bathed the dog and cooked Bruce a chilli non carne for supper, and uncorked a couple of bottles of her red wine, they seemed to reach an entente très cordiale, if the hoots of laughter we heard coming from Beaver’s Barn were anything to go by.

  After that we didn’t see too much of them, they sped off together to the art festival in Penelope’s car in the morning with Tiger poking her head out of the window and then wandered off either to the beach or to the village to paint. Theo and I both thought we’d got off rather lightly.

  Most of the week passed uneventfully. The builders turned up on time and finished off Penguin’s Pad and Kittiwake’s Cabin so at least all three cottages were now habitable.

  However, the grounds of Driftwood Lodge, which were huge, still left a lot to be desired. And in spite of Theo’s insistence that holidaymakers liked the wild look, I decided to get a bit green-fingered and tidied up the courtyard, pulling up weeds and replanting some of the pots with geraniums to add a splash of Penelope-like colour to the place. I barely scratched the surface but at least the courtyard now created a better first impression when guests arrived. Theo concentrated his efforts on cleaning up thoroughly after the builders, who by Thursday had packed up and left for good, and he and I had celebrated with bottles of local Devon Dreamer beer by the old lifeboat house at the far end of the beach. It was absolute bliss.

  On Friday morning I found Theo at the kitchen table on his laptop looking very industrious.

  ‘I’ve been making a list of items we still need to complete the cottages,’ he said, leaning back in his chair. ‘Visitor information packs, leaflets, maps, and so on.’

  ‘Don’t forget we still have only one set of cutlery, crockery and pans and stuff,’ I reminded him, taking a seat next to him. ‘And they’re in Beaver’s Barn.’

  Theo, sensibly, had been mindful of the money side of things when we’d ordered furnishings. Consequently, the kitchen cupboards in the other two cottages were empty.

  ‘Oh yes.’ He tapped at the keyboard to add items to the list. ‘And I’ve been thinking about Kate’s ultimatum. She only wanted me to get the cottages habitable and ready for the season, she wasn’t expecting me to actually take new bookings. But what if I did? What if I started advertising, taking advantage of the summer trade? And Christmas! Imagine spending Christmas here!’

  I could, I thought wistfully, and I bet it would be gorgeous.

  A thought struck me. ‘Didn’t you spend Christmas here last year?’

  ‘Yes, and the year before that, but it was awful.’ A shadow passed over his face and I could have kicked myself for spoiling the mood.

  ‘But this Christmas will be totally different,’ I said, pouring us both a fresh coffee. ‘You’re totally different.’

  Theo smiled. ‘You’re right. I am. And with any luck, we could be fully booked by the time Kate gets home.’

  My heart squeezed for him. Two weeks ago he’d told me that Driftwood Lodge had never felt like home. I wondered if he realized just how much he had achieved. Not just the cottages, but in his outlook on life
.

  ‘I like your thinking,’ I said, chinking my mug against his.

  His dark eyes met mine.

  ‘I couldn’t have done any of this without you, you know,’ he said, as if reading my mind.

  ‘Happy to help.’

  I added a drop more milk to my mug to break eye contact. It was true, I’d enjoyed being here, but the doubts I’d had about running away from London were getting stronger.

  ‘I’m going to collect the eggs while you finish your coffee.’ He got to his feet. ‘Then I’ll cook us both some breakfast.’

  I nodded, glad to have a moment to collect my thoughts. I loved it here but I could only hide away for so long. I owed it to my fellow cast members of Victory Road to give some sort of statement of apology and much as it grated on me, I should really apologize to Cecily too. Besides, could I really keep a low profile in this tiny seaside village until June and still expect to have a career to come back to? I just didn’t know …

  Theo was chuckling when he came back in. ‘Looks like our guests are getting on well, I just heard Bruce calling her Pen-Pen and she replied with a Brucey-darling!’

  ‘Those two are a match made in heaven.’

  ‘Or Devon.’ Theo elbowed me, pleased with his joke.

  ‘Ha ha, very good.’ I glanced at the time. ‘And haven’t they usually left for the art festival by now?’

  He popped a clutch of speckled brown eggs into the wire basket on top of the fridge and took out the frying pan. ‘Apparently they were inspired by a skin workshop yesterday, whatever that is, and they’re going to do a joint creation as it’s their last day. They’re setting up on the grass at the back later to make the most of the sunshine. Fried okay?’

  ‘Theo.’ I took a deep breath, feeling my throat thicken at the thought of what I was about to say. ‘About what we were just saying, I don’t think—’

  Theo held up a hand. ‘Hold that thought; I just heard an engine.’

  ‘Sure.’ I let out a breath, relieved at the interruption. It could wait.

  Theo turned to look through the open front door as a car crunched to a halt on the gravel.

  ‘Oh hell,’ he muttered. ‘I completely forgot to cancel the appointment.’

  ‘Theo!’ I groaned, as a man climbed out of a car stickered on its sides and rear with the Coastal Cottages logo.

  ‘Nigel Rees, and I am in LOVE with your house!’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, showing him into the hall. There was no mistaking who he worked for: his polo shirt, briefcase and even his watch sported the logo too.

  ‘Thatched roof, my favourite!’ he exclaimed, pausing to look at the underside of the thatch. ‘It is literally THE chocolate-box Devon property. My, oh my, Mrs Fletcher, you lucky lady!’

  ‘Very lucky,’ I agreed. By now I was so used to masquerading as Kate that I didn’t bother correcting him and Theo seemed to have temporarily lost his voice. But Nigel didn’t notice, he was so effusive in his praise of Driftwood Lodge that he totally dominated the conversation.

  ‘Gorgeous spot, Brightside Cove,’ he said, setting his slim briefcase on the kitchen table. ‘A real find, as we say in the holiday business. If we did take you on, you’d be our first property in the area.’

  ‘Really? That would be great, wouldn’t it, Theo?’ I said, trying to bring him into the conversation.

  ‘I really wanted Kate to be here for this bit,’ he replied glumly as Nigel wandered to the window and peered out at the garden. ‘This was her dream.’

  ‘Look on the bright side,’ I whispered, ‘this way, you’ll have bookings coming in much sooner.’

  ‘True, and I suppose Nigel need never know you’re not really Kate.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I said firmly. ‘So let’s do Kate proud.’

  ‘I like the fact that the outside space isn’t too fussy,’ Nigel continued enthusiastically. ‘It feels very authentic.’

  That’s one word for it, I thought, catching sight of a discarded patio chair that Penelope had broken yesterday by standing on it.

  ‘Beaches, bathrooms and barbecues,’ he turned from the window and smiled. ‘Those are the things our holidaymakers comment on the most. And a warm welcome, but I see you’ve already got that bit covered.’

  I made a fresh pot of coffee and Theo hurriedly shoved the frying pan away while Nigel arranged his brochures on the table. I tipped the last few vegan cashew shortbread fingers I’d made specially for Bruce on a plate and set it in front of him.

  ‘So what do you need from us today?’ I asked, finally getting a word in while Nigel attempted to remove some shortbread from the roof of his mouth.

  ‘A tour of the cottages and lots and lots of photographs,’ he said after swallowing. ‘But first a discussion about our services, which should take about an hour.’

  I shot Theo a look of panic. The properties were clean and tidy, but not exactly photo-shoot ready and I had no idea what state Beaver’s Barn was going to be in.

  ‘Perhaps you could take photos on your next visit?’ I suggested.

  Nigel chuckled. ‘There won’t be a next visit. We represent two thousand properties; there aren’t enough hours in the day to see them all twice.’

  ‘We have guests in one of our properties,’ said Theo, finding his tongue at last. ‘But no worries, we can take some pictures for you and send them on.’

  Nigel pulled the corners of his mouth down. ‘All our properties have to be photographed and verified by us. Company policy.’

  ‘In that case,’ I said, scooping up various sets of keys and my bag, ‘I’ll leave you in my husband’s capable hands and I’ll see you in an hour.’

  I had sixty minutes to do … whatever needed doing.

  My first stop was Penguin’s Pad; it looked lovely. The smell of plaster and paint still hung in the air, but when I thought back to how it had been that awful Sunday when the Birds had arrived I could scarcely believe the transformation. I walked around the living room, adjusting the picture frames, straightening the rugs and picking up a stray feather from one of the cushions, wondering what else I could add …

  Flowers. That was it, fresh flowers would give it the lived-in touch I was after. Not the little wild ones I usually picked from the garden but big bold blooms which would look good in the photographs. There weren’t any florists in Brightside Cove, but I was sure if I headed inland I’d come across one. But I’d have to hurry.

  I ran from the cottage, jumped in Theo’s van and drove off as fast as I could. Most of the lanes around here were so narrow and the hedges so high that it took all of my concentration to squeeze past oncoming cars. And junctions were scary too, particularly when cars appeared from nowhere. I was approaching a T-junction now and would have to give way and hope nothing was coming as I couldn’t see round the corner. I couldn’t remember whether I had to turn left or right here. I headed towards the left of the junction. Or was it right? Yes, I remembered now, definitely right. I changed direction at the last second and aimed the car to the right.

  BEEEEPPPP!

  I yelped and automatically stamped on my brakes as the loudest horn in the world sounded behind me. I wound the window down, heart pounding.

  I stuck my head out to see a man in a navy-blue van doing the same. His front bumper was a hair’s breadth from the rear of Theo’s van.

  ‘You frightened me to death!’ I yelled.

  ‘You cut me up, changing your mind at the last second,’ he shouted back in a thick West Country accent. I could just make out his stubbly chin, a big grin and a flash of hazel eyes under his baseball cap. He leaned a tanned, muscular arm out of the van. ‘You should use your mirror more often.’

  ‘You should use your brakes more often!’ I retorted. My hands were trembling after our near miss, and the fact that he found it so amusing wasn’t helping to calm my nerves.

  Just then a brown and white dog bounded on to his lap and blocked its owner’s face from view.

  ‘Get down, Mabel,’ he laughed, a spontaneo
us rich, warm giggle, which if I hadn’t been so cross would have made me join in. He tugged her out of his line of vision. I still couldn’t see him properly because of his cap but I recognized that dog. It was the friendly springer spaniel from the beach.

  ‘Listen,’ he said teasingly, ‘why don’t you apologize nicely and we can all move along?’

  ‘You apologize. For beeping at me.’

  He tipped his head back and laughed again but before he had a chance to reply the dog dived at his face.

  ‘Urrggh. Mabel, don’t lick my mouth; how many times?’ He pulled a face and managed to push the dog back to her own seat.

  I smirked as the man rubbed at his mouth in disgust.

  ‘Okay then, I’m so, so sorry,’ I said insincerely, pulling my head back into the car. ‘See you around in Brightside Cove.’

  ‘Wait,’ he yelled as I put the van into gear. ‘How do you know I’m from Brightside Cove?’

  But his question blew away unanswered on the wind; I had urgent floral business to attend to.

  The rest of the journey was incident free and back at Driftwood Lodge I collected some lovely Devon slipware jugs from the kitchen, refreshed Nigel’s coffee (he was explaining cancellation fees; Theo was trying to stay awake) and zoomed over to place hand-tied bouquets in the two empty cottages. Then there was just Beaver’s Barn to tackle.

  I knocked on the door. There was a lot of laughing going on inside but finally Bruce opened the door in a very short red satin dressing gown.

  ‘I am so sorry to disturb you,’ I said, averting my eyes, ‘but can I come in?’

  Bruce made a sweeping gesture with his arm and stood back to let me in as I explained that we’d got an inspection and asked if we could possibly take some photos.

  ‘Who is it, Brucey-darling?’ Penelope called from upstairs.

  I suppressed a smile as he yelled up to her, ‘Kate wants to take some photos.’

  Kate? Oh yes, that was me. ‘Sorry, I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  Penelope trotted down the stairs, also in a very short satin dressing gown, only this time in green, with Tiger clutched to her chest.