The Cornish Guest House (7 page)

As she undressed, however, she found herself fretting about whether her daughter would be all right at Mandy’s, and not just because of the brain tumour. Rosie had had an unhappy time at primary school because she’d been bullied by certain children because of her cerebral palsy. Since starting secondary school, though, things had improved and she seemed to have found a kind, close-knit circle of friends at last.

Now, instead of spending every moment of every weekend with her mother, she often arranged things with them such as cinema trips or shopping in Plymouth. This pleased Liz, but still she was super-alert to the possibility that something could go wrong. Rosie might get picked on in the street, for example, because of her limp and tricky arm. Or Mandy or one of the other girls might suggest going somewhere that involved more walking than Rosie could comfortably manage.

Of course she’d say that she could cope because she’d hate to draw attention to herself. She’d hate it even more, however, if she had to call her mother because she’d got into difficulty. Like all children, all she ever wanted was to be exactly the same as everyone else.

Liz gave herself a mental ticking off. She was doing it again, anticipating problems that might never happen. Rosie was growing up and must be allowed to spread her wings. This felt almost as hard, though, as everything that had gone before, when every instinct screamed at her to wrap her daughter in cotton wool so that nothing could ever hurt her again.

She turned on the tap in the en suite shower by her bedroom, which was such a luxury after the shabby old bathroom at Dove Cottage. She had her back turned to the door and the noise of the water meant that she didn’t hear Robert enter quietly and take off his clothes, dropping them on the floor.

‘What a nice surprise!’ he murmured, stepping in to join her and bending down to kiss her lightly on the back of her neck, which was dripping with shampoo.

Startled, she spun round to find him right in front of her, smiling softly and slightly shyly, as if she might just turn him away. But his eyes were burning.

‘Come and stand here,’ she said, moving aside so that there was room for them both under the warm water. He ran his hands up and down her body, which made her shiver, and closed her eyes, tipping back her head to rinse the shampoo out of her hair.

‘I’ll do that,’ said Robert, his voice low and mysterious, and he massaged the foam out gently before reaching for the soap.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked innocently, as she watched him lather it between his two hands. ‘I’ve been in ages. I need to get out.’

He shook his head firmly, his shyness having vanished. ‘I need to make sure you’ve washed properly and you haven’t missed anywhere. Here, let me start at the top and work my way down.’

*

She was still glowing, and not just from the hot shower, when the doorbell rang.

‘Let’s ignore it,’ Robert said lazily. He had his arm round Liz, who was resting her head on his chest, and he was twisting a strand of her damp hair round his finger.

She was inclined to follow his advice until she heard Esme’s unmistakable ‘Coo-ee’ through the letterbox.

‘Quick!’ She jumped out of bed and threw on the dress that she’d draped over the back of the chair. The lights were on and Esme would know she was in. She wouldn’t give up; she was like that.

Liz ran downstairs, smoothing her hair and adopting her best, most guiltless smile before answering the door. Esme, who rarely missed a trick, raised one eyebrow and opened her mouth to speak, before thinking better of it and shutting it again. She was a potter, who lived on her own in the flat above Dove Cottage and she and Liz had become close, particularly after Rosie had fallen ill with her brain tumour.

A tall, thin woman of sixty-odd, Esme took off her flowing, multicoloured coat and declared that she, too, would be walking to the party with Liz, Pat and Loveday. It seemed that there was to be quite an entourage. As she was already dressed in her party frock, a batik-print, lilac and blue maxi, she clearly intended to stay until departure time.

Robert appeared to say a quick goodbye and Liz, studiously avoiding eye contact, went to put on the kettle. When she returned, Esme, who wasn’t normally one to gossip, couldn’t resist informing her that Nathan the postman had seen a delivery van parked on the corner of Humble Hill, transporting cartloads of groceries towards The Stables.

‘There was literally mountains of food and drink,’ she said dramatically. ‘Enough to feed the five thousand. And the au pair told Ryan they’ve hired a caterer from Tavistock.’ Esme sniffed, making the end of her long, thin nose twitch. ‘They might have given Audrey a call. She could have done it for them.’

As well as owning Seaspray Boutique, Audrey ran a small catering business on the side that was popular with wealthier tourists in summer.

‘Well, as Audrey’s on the guest list, she can introduce herself tonight and mention her business,’ Liz suggested. ‘Anyway, she’ll have more fun as she won’t be stuck in the kitchen for once. Now,’ she went on, changing the subject quickly, ‘let’s forget the tea and have some wine instead. Then I’d better put on my make-up as Pat’s bound to be early.’

As she went to the kitchen to fetch a bottle and some glasses, she found herself pondering the fact that she seemed to have spent the past few days defending Tabitha to herself and others, and wasn’t sure why she’d bothered. Tabitha wasn’t exactly your classic landlady, she was far too glitzy and a bit stand-offish. Come to that, she wasn’t the type to be living in a village like this either.

Liz couldn’t help wondering what on earth had persuaded her to come here in the first place. It did seem odd. Quite frankly, the woman might have been more suited to a posh part of London than warm, friendly, down-to-earth Tremarnock. Perhaps she wouldn’t stay long.

‘You’re doing
what?
’

A man walked past the house and Tabitha darted away from the window quickly.

‘Having a party – for practically the whole village,’ she said, perching on the end of her bed, the phone still cradled between shoulder and ear.

Her friend, Molly, gasped.

‘But you’ve only just moved in, for God’s sake. You must be mad.’

Tabitha examined her fingernails, which were painted an unusual shade of pebble grey. That all-too-familiar lump had started to form in her throat again and she tried to ignore it.

‘It’s all right,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I’ve got plenty of help. Luke says it’s important to get to know everyone.’ She fiddled with the thin gold chain round her neck with a tiny horseshoe on the end. ‘He wants us to play an active part in the community. He says this is a good way to start.’

‘Sheesh, Tabby, you hate all that community stuff. It’s your worst nightmare.’

Tabitha imagined her friend sitting cross-legged on the carpet, painting her own nails, ready for an evening out in Deansgate maybe, or the Northern Quarter. Perhaps she’d be trying out one of the new bars or going to the cinema, followed by a meal at their favourite Chinese or Thai.

‘He’ll do most of the talking, you know what he’s like,’ Tabitha insisted. ‘I’ll just stand in the corner and smile.’

Molly sighed. ‘Oh Tabby, I wish you were here. When can you and Oscar come and visit?’

Tabitha thought how tied she was going to be now, running the guest house, and the last thing Luke would want would be for her to go dashing back to Manchester every five minutes. He had been determined to get her away from there and from Molly, too, though he’d never put it exactly like that.

‘Not for a while,’ she replied truthfully. If ever.

She didn’t suggest that her friend come and stay, she didn’t need to. Molly knew the score.

‘You must phone often.’ She was trying to be cheerful. ‘Promise me you will.’

‘I promise,’ said Tabitha, thinking Molly had no idea; those calls would be her lifeline. Without them, she didn’t know how she’d cope.

She could hear voices outside so rose and glanced out of the window again, taking care to be far enough back not to be seen. Thanks to the yellowy glow from the streetlamp nearby, she could make out a group of women coming down the street, talking and laughing. Leading the way was a lady in late middle age, wearing a long, flowing, brightly coloured coat that reached almost to her ankles, and beside her was a young girl in nothing but a skimpy top and mini-skirt, teetering in sky-high boots. Behind them, an elderly, stooped woman with snow-white hair was hanging on to the arm of a younger, dark-haired person for support: Liz.

Tabitha’s pulse quickened. They’d be here any minute and Luke would expect her to greet them.

‘I have to go,’ she said, checking herself quickly in the dressing-table mirror and pinning on her best smile. ‘I’ll call you back as soon as I can.’

*

Liz was dismayed to discover that they were the first to arrive. She blamed Pat, who’d turned up at Bag End while she, Esme and by then Loveday, too, had been enjoying a glass of wine. Pat had asked the time so often and complained about being late that in the end Liz could stand it no longer and suggested they all set off.

Luke, however, quickly put her at her ease. ‘Lovely to see you again.’ He passed her coat to a young man in a black shirt and trousers and kissed her on both cheeks. She caught a faint whiff of expensive aftershave. ‘I’m so grateful for your help. Without you, of course, none of this would have been possible.’

He turned to the other women, standing awkwardly in the middle of the hall, and introduced himself. ‘I’m so glad you could come, and at such short notice, too. We tend to do things quite spontaneously, Tabitha and I. Welcome to The Stables. Let me find you a glass of bubbly!’

‘I’m not that keen on champagne, to be honest with you, I’ll have sherry,’ Pat blurted, rather ungraciously, Liz thought, and she felt herself redden on her friend’s behalf.

‘She’s a bit deaf,’ she whispered to her host, hoping that he wouldn’t be offended.

Luke looked amused and took the old woman gallantly by the arm. ‘One sherry coming up,’ he announced, ushering them into a large reception room on the left. ‘You must meet my wife.’

She was standing alone in front of the marble fireplace, lit by the rosy glow of flickering flames, and looked quite stunning, Liz thought, in a long, tight-fitting silver dress that showed off her statuesque figure. Her thick, curly black hair just skimmed her bare shoulders and fanned out around her face like candyfloss.

Liz could feel Loveday start, and Pat’s eyes opened wide. Glamorous women were few and far between in Tremarnock, especially when the tourists went home, and you certainly wouldn’t find a dress like that in the local boutiques, not even Audrey’s.

Luke disappeared to fetch the drinks and for a moment nobody spoke, until Tabitha exclaimed: ‘Cool boots!’

She was staring down at Loveday’s black, platform, knee-length boots, with white laces criss-crossing all the way up the front. These were teamed with fishnet tights, a black PVC mini-skirt and a red satin shirt, open to the cleavage. The overall effect was certainly eye-catching.

For a moment Loveday looked startled, then she smiled with pleasure. ‘Aw, thanks. Robert says I can’t wear them for waitressing but I wear them loads when I’m not working.’

‘They’re unique.’ Tabitha was still marvelling and, grabbing Esme’s arm for support, Loveday raised a foot and tipped it from side to side so that her hostess could take in the full glory.

‘I’m not sure I could get away with them,’ Tabitha went on, ‘but the girls in Manchester would go mad for them. Where did you buy them?’

‘Cardiff,’ Loveday replied, lapping up the praise. ‘I went with my boyfriend for the weekend. You’d never find anything like that round here. The clothes shops are dead old-fashioned.’

Realising what she’d said, her eyes slid left and right guiltily, but luckily Audrey wasn’t within earshot.

A helper arrived with a tray of drinks, which they took gratefully, and Loveday, clearly sensing that she’d found a kindred spirit in Tabitha, filled her in on some of the local fashion shops that were worth a look in. ‘Royal William Yard in Plymouth’s not bad. There’s a couple of designer dress places – not that I can afford them.’

While the two chatted, Liz took the opportunity to glance around. The room had been freshly painted and had a low panelled ceiling, pretty leaded windows overlooking the street and interesting wood panelling that went halfway up the walls. The owners had already hung up a collection of framed prints, as well as a variety of modern paintings, and there was a giant rectangular gilt mirror above the fireplace.

The furniture had been pushed back and in each of the four corners was a mahogany table with a heavy lamp on top, their ceramic bases shaped like ivory and silver pineapples with sable shades. The wooden floor was original, and had been polished to a shine.

As more people arrived, the temperature and volume increased and Liz recognised Tony Cutt’s loud voice behind her. She turned to find him, with his handsome Brazilian partner, Felipe, chatting to Rick Kane, who was accompanied by the white-blonde lady friend he’d dined with at A Winkle In Time.

Tony worked in PR, and he and Felipe, who was quite a bit younger, divided their time between a flat in London and Tony’s cottage in Tremarnock. Felipe didn’t work, but he was very artistic and had designed the leaflets and posters for Liz when the whole village community had got together to raise funds for Rosie’s proton therapy in Oklahoma. His English was pretty broken, but when he was around he threw himself with gusto into local life and was a keen member of Tremarnock Art Club, which met every Friday afternoon in the leaky church hall.

Tony, who was wearing a rather tight floral shirt, roared with laughter, and Liz caught Felipe’s eye, signalling that she’d join them in a moment, before turning back to her group to excuse herself. Tabitha had taken off a gold bracelet that was covered in charms, and was showing it to Loveday, while Pat and Esme looked on.

‘I got this one in Amsterdam,’ Tabitha explained. ‘Look, it’s a tulip. And this here’s the hand of Fatima. A friend bought it for me in Egypt. It’s supposed to ward off the evil eye.’