The Little B & B at Cove End

by Linda Mitchelmore

  Cara swallowed. She gave up buying the Sunday papers – or indeed any paper – months ago. It was money she could ill afford.

  ‘Oh, is he? I haven’t bought a newspaper in ages,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Oh God. Sorry. Me and my big mouth again. But there was never much left over for things like that with Mark anyway, was there?’

  ‘No. So what does this Tom Whatsit paint, then?’

  ‘Figurative,’ Rosie said. ‘Mostly.’ She slid her hands down over her hips emphasising the shape of them. ‘But tasteful. As far removed from Page Three as the Pope is from marriage troubles. But nudes to you.’

  ‘And nudes to anyone else with half an eye I expect,’ Cara laughed. ‘As I’m female and know what women look like nude, I’ve never had the urge to buy a painting of one. Now come on, coffee and then let’s hit this pawn trail.’ Cara dismissed Tom Gasson-Smith and his artwork.

  ‘I can’t believe this,’ Cara said as she stood making a visor of her hands as she peered in the window of a pawnbroker’s in Higher Union Street.

  ‘What?’ Rosie said. ‘That so many people pawn their stuff? I mean, the window’s stuffed.’

  ‘Well that, yes,’ Cara said. ‘But I mean one ring in particular. Over there. The display stand in the middle, third row from the top, second ring in. The square emerald edged with diamonds.’

  Rosie put an around her shoulders, which brought tears to Cara’s eyes – the closeness and the caring after so long being untouched by anyone, was making her soul ache. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised that her ring had turned up here because Mark had often been seconded to another branch to step in if a manager was ill or on holiday, and the branch just up the road from where she was standing had been one of those. Cara swallowed – that and a betting shop.

  ‘Are you sure? I mean, I’ve got vague memories of your engagement party and the fact your ring was an emerald but well, we were all looking at things through the bottom of a glass all night, weren’t we?’

  ‘We were,’ Cara managed to croak out.

  She knew Rosie was just trying to make her laugh, trying to remember the positives, but it wasn’t helping. Not really. Of course Cara knew her engagement ring. But she was grateful to Rosie – she couldn’t have come here alone. And she could hardly have brought Mae with her, could she? She wasn’t yet ready for the conversation she knew she would have to have with her daughter about Mark and had Mae been with her, that would have been right now, outside a pawnbroker’s.

  ‘It will have C and M linked by a heart on the inside at the bottom of the shank. If it’s mine.’

  ‘Right. Action needed,’ Rosie said. ‘Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll go in and see who brought it in. Man or woman. And when. You do realise those bogus guests might have lifted it if you’d left it in a drawer and not worn it for ages, although I doubt they’d have got it here so quickly if they had. But if it was them, then the police will have to be involved.’

  ‘I know. Can we cross that bridge when we come to it? I’ve got a hunch about this.’ A shiver rippled across Cara’s shoulders and snaked its way down her spine – someone walking on her grave, her grandma Rachel would have said. It was her ring and she knew it, like she’d known her own baby in a roomful of newborns at the hospital when Mae had been born.

  ‘Okay. Next part of the plan is to see if we can get a name out of the old boy running this place.’ Rosie jerked a finger towards a chap who looked about eighty, perched on a stool reading a paper at the end of the counter. ‘Shouldn’t be difficult. I’ll just unbutton my blouse a button or two …’

  ‘Rosie!’

  ‘Do you want to know or not?’

  ‘Of course. But could you go? On your own? Please. I don’t think I can. I mean, if it was Mark who pawned it … how could he?’

  ‘Mark did a lot of things neither of us could understand, sweetie,’ Rosie said. ‘How he could have been so cavalier with his cash when he had a beautiful and loving wife at home, and a daughter anyone would be proud of – with or without a boyfriend of whom I don’t approve, it has to be said – beggars belief really.’

  ‘Oh, Rosie,’ Cara said, ‘that was a bit double-edged with the reference to Josh. But I’ll leave that bit out of it and say thanks for the lovely things you said.’

  ‘Only stating the truth – well, my truth,’ Rosie said. ‘If Mark were here, he’d say the same. About Josh.’

  ‘But he’s not,’ Cara said, her voice firm.

  ‘But I am, and I’m being a bit bossy but I’m only psyching myself for going in there and sealing the deal, if that is indeed your ring.’

  Cara laughed. So sometimes Rosie wasn’t as confident inside as she looked on the outside? She dressed to impress, always, and today was no different. Monochrome from head to toe today, with earrings like liquorice allsorts – the white round ones with the black centre – and a black and white-striped shirtwaister dress cinched in tight with a black patent belt about six inches wide. Black strappy sandals with a huge white fabric bow on the toes.

  ‘Psych away,’ Cara said. ‘And, you know, thanks. In advance. For what you’re doing for me.’

  ‘Sure you don’t want to come in?’

  Cara nodded, tears suddenly springing to her eyes that she had such a good friend to whom she could say just about anything and who returned the compliment, even though it might not be what Cara wanted to hear sometimes.

  ‘Okay. I understand. Stay there. Close your eyes if you don’t want to see it being taken out of the window. I won’t be a tick.’

  Cara squeezed her eyes tight, which only served to make her slightly dizzy as the traffic roared past sounding louder than normal. Her mouth went dry with nerves and she thought she might faint, although she’d never fainted in her life before. She remembered reading somewhere that if you clench your buttocks alternately it will stop you fainting. Clench, clench. Breathe in, hold for four counts, exhale slowly. And repeat. And repeat.

  ‘Sorry,’ Rosie said, touching Cara gently on the arm, startling her. ‘The good news first. It’s your ring. The bad news is it was Mark who brought it in.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Cara said.

  ‘But,’ Rosie said, ‘the even better news is that the time for claiming back has come and gone. I told the old boy that Mark’s no longer able to come and collect it himself anyway, and he said he’d heard of his death as there’s a bank just up the road and the staff were full of it at the time because most of them knew him. Anyway, be that as it may, I’m now the proud owner of a rather beautiful emerald and diamond ring. But seeing as emeralds aren’t my thing, it’s all yours.’ She grabbed Cara’s hand, placed the ring in her palm and then closed her fingers for her tightly over it.

  ‘You can’t. I won’t let you.’

  ‘I already have. If you’re going to be all prissie about it, sell the thing and use the money to start a new collection of paintings.’

  ‘No, I need to keep it. Mark bought it for me and I think I should leave it to Mae.’

  ‘If we’re going to start talking funeral plans, this is where I make my exit.’

  ‘Very funny,’ Cara said, unable to stop a chuckle rising. ‘Not yet, I hope, for the funeral plan. But I will pay you back. Just as soon as …’

  ‘No need,’ Rosie stopped her. ‘Now, did I hear you say you fancied lunch? With wine? At Hoopers? Do posh now we’ve got something to celebrate?’

  ‘You might have,’ Cara said, although she knew she’d said no such thing.

  ‘My treat,’ Rosie said.

  ‘You …’

  ‘I know,’ Rosie said, putting a hand up to stop Cara finishing her sentence. ‘I’m too good for my own good.’

  ‘You are so. But if I were to tell you that, your head might swell.’

  Arm in arm the women hurried back down the main street to the harbour and Hoopers, and lunch.

  ‘Scrambled egg with smoked salmon, please,’ Cara said when the waitress came to take their order.

  ‘Make
that two,’ Rosie said. ‘With a glass of Prosecco,’ she added. ‘For my friend here. Water with lemon, no ice, for me, saint that I am, seeing as I’m driving. No! No! Scratch the water. I’ll push the boat out and go for tonic water, with lemon, no ice. My brain will tell me I’m drinking gin and tonic.’

  Cara and the waitress laughed in unison.

  ‘I’ll remember that little trick!’ the waitress said, grinning, as she went off with their order.

  ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ Cara said, settling herself into her chair by the window, Torquay Harbour looking glorious in the sunshine with yachts at anchor, the ferry just coming in from Brixham with a full load of tourists, and a long snake of passengers waiting on the quayside ready for the trip in the other direction. It could, Cara thought, almost be the Med here today, with the light and the colours and the atmosphere. ‘You’re always so cheerful, and I’m sure you must get down sometimes and I want to say I’m sorry if I’ve not asked you about you for ages, and I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit, well, self-indulgent about things and …’

  ‘Stop! Enough!’ Rosie wagged a mock-cross finger at her. ‘I’m out of here if you’re going to get all maudlin on me. Seriously.’

  The waitress came back with their drinks. And a bowl of olives – green ones, black ones, and some the colour of mashed blackberries that Cara hadn’t seen before. She couldn’t remember anyone ordering those.

  ‘On the house,’ the waitress said, placing the dish carefully on the table between them. ‘For the tonic water trick. Your meal won’t be long,’ she finished, and walked away.

  Rosie took Cara’s drink from the tray and handed it to her. ‘Now, drink up like a good girl, and there’s more where that came from. Seeing as you’re not driving, and seeing as we’re celebrating.’

  ‘Yes, Miss!’ Cara said. She sipped cautiously at the Prosecco but still the bubbles managed to tickle up her throat into the back of her nose as they always did.

  ‘This is a lovely surprise. You know, lunch, the Prosecco, the waitress being so kind with the olives, finding the ring, getting it back. And it being such a …’

  ‘Eat!’ Rosie said, holding out the dish of olives for Cara to take one. ‘You’re straying dangerously into maudlin territory again! Besides, I’ve got another little surprise for you when you get back to yours.’

  And a surprise it was. Cara had asked if Rosie minded stopping off at the supermarket on the way back so she could stock up a bit on things for the freezer for future guests. Rosie had hesitated for a moment, checked the time on her phone and said, yes, if you’re quick. Cara understood the reason for that hesitation now. A computer. Seeing as she was upgrading all her IT equipment at the salon, so Rosie said, she had no use for her old one, and insisted Cara accept it as a gift. The new one would be all tax-deductable expenses so Cara wasn’t to even think about paying her back for it. She’d even arranged for her IT man, Ian, to install it for her. He’d arrived before the engine on Rosie’s car had cooled down from the journey from Torquay to Larracombe. Quick introductions were made and then Rosie was out the door again.

  ‘The schemer!’ Cara said as Ian carried his box of tricks into the house. The computer was on the table in the kitchen, not that that could be its permanent location. ‘She had this all set up. She knew I’d object.’

  ‘Sounds like Rosie,’ Ian said. ‘So, where do you want it all set up?’

  ‘God, I don’t know,’ Cara said. ‘I haven’t had time to think about it yet. It’s all been a bit of a whirlwind really. I wasn’t expecting her to give me a computer. I doubt it’s as ancient as she says it is.’

  ‘Got it in one,’ Ian smiled at her. ‘I do stuff for her a lot. Her and some of her staff, and a couple of clients who, well, need a bit of help. Random acts of kindness I call it. You’re not the first.’

  ‘No, no,’ Cara said, a lump in her throat now.

  ‘So, where’s it going to live?’ Ian asked, taking his mobile from his trouser pocket and checking the time.

  ‘Sorry,’ Cara said. ‘I’m sure you’re more than busy.’

  But where should it go? In the corner of the breakfast room? In her bedroom? If she chose her bedroom, she’d need a desk of some sort up there. Maybe she could use Mae’s old desk that now no longer had a laptop on it, but in her room, not Mae’s.

  And then a thought hit her, like a punch to the stomach. How much an hour did IT experts charge? How was she going to pay for his time, and how long was all this going to take anyway?

  ‘Um, before you start,’ Cara said, ‘we need to talk finance. I don’t know how much Rosie’s told you but, well, I’m no Kardashian at the moment. I …’

  ‘All dealt with,’ Ian said. ‘I’ll bill her as arranged.’

  ‘I might have guessed as much,’ Cara said, wondering how she could recompense Rosie for her kindness and her generosity. ‘So, in the breakfast room, I think.’

  ‘Great. I’ll get it all hooked up to the internet first, then we’ll sort a password and I’ll need to take some photos to upload so punters can see what you’re offering. We can get views of the area off the internet, but I’ll take a few of the garden as well. Lovely terrace you’ve got out front, I noticed on the way in.’

  Cara gulped. She could quite see how Rosie and Ian might have a great working relationship because they both thought fast, and both talked fast – no doubt this job would be finished in no time.

  ‘Yes, the terrace is a lovely feature. It’s what sold Mark and me the house really. The view. Mark being my late husband …’

  ‘I know. Rosie said. I’m sorry for your loss. Breakfast room is which way? Desk? Table?’

  Of course, he would need to get on and here she was rabbiting. Cara showed him the way, then left him to it as she raced around the house at breakneck speed plumping up cushions and tidying away anything that needed to be tidied away, like towels airing on the edge of the bath, the book she was reading, and the tubs of cream she put on her face and body every morning so she didn’t turn into a wrinkled old woman before her time. Now she was almost up and running as a B&B landlady, she’d need to do this on a daily basis.

  It wasn’t long before Ian called up the stairs that it was all up and running and he was ready to take photographs.

  Cara came scurrying down the stairs.

  ‘Gosh, that was quick!’ she said.

  ‘Yeah. Your pal’s very generous, but she’s also a businesswoman. Flat fee and all that. Very focusing is a flat fee!’ Ian laughed. ‘I’ll take five or six photos of each room and then upload them. The basics are on the website already, like “home”, “location”, “local facilities”. I’ll leave you to work out what you’re going to charge, but I’ll show you how to add that before I leave. You can find out what’s reasonable by googling other B&Bs in the area. Any problems, here’s my card.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Cara said, taking his card. Ian looked, to her, as though he should have still been in sixth-form college but then, all children were more than computer-literate these days and Ian probably knew more when he was seven years old than she did now.

  And then Mae came in. Cara had assumed she’d been upstairs in her room still studying when she’d got back because the door was closed. Obviously not so. Where, she wondered, had Mae been? Oh yes, the library, Cara remembered now. Back via the beach by the look of it. Mae stood in the doorway of the breakfast room, her ballet pumps swinging from one hand, and leaving little trails of sand on the parquet. Her hair was blown every which way, but she had rosy cheeks and looked happier than Cara had seen her look in a long while. And then the smile faded from her daughter’s face.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Mae asked. She folded her arms across her chest – a shutting-out gesture that told Cara she didn’t like coming home to find a stranger in the breakfast room one little bit.

  ‘Ian,’ Cara said. ‘This is my daughter, Mae. Mae, darling, this is Ian, who’s come to set up the computer Rosie gave me earlier, and build us a website for the B&B busines
s. Is that the right word? Build?’

  ‘Or create,’ Ian said. ‘But either will do. Hello, Mae.’

  ‘So this stupid idea is going ahead, then?’ Mae said, a pouty sulk making her look about five years old, not fifteen.

  Cara was on the cusp of telling Mae to mind her manners and at least acknowledge Ian’s polite and friendly ‘hello’, but Mae turned round sharply and raced down the hallway before thumping her way, very noisily, up to her room.

  ‘Good luck with that, then!’ Ian said, jerking his head in the direction Mae had disappeared. ‘I’ve got three sisters. All younger than I am. Teenage girls, eh? I take it Mae’s room is off limits for photos?’

  ‘Very off limits,’ Cara said. ‘And I’m sorry you had to be on the receiving end of that.’

  ‘No worries. The sisters, remember! I’ll get on with the photos, upload them, and then scarper. It won’t take long.’

  ‘Take as long as you need,’ Cara said.

  Clearly Mae hadn’t come around to the idea of Cove End being a B&B, but Cara had no other option – it had to be done. And besides, there was a little fizz of excitement underneath Cara’s breastbone that she’d come up with the idea. Aided now by the very generous Rosie, she couldn’t afford for it to fail.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Mum, I’m sorry,’ Mae said next morning at breakfast.

  Cara noticed that Mae’s eyes were pink as though she’d been crying very recently, although she hadn’t heard her when she got up. She’d heard her in the night, though. To go to her or not? Cara had decided not. Mae was growing up and she must let her. Mae knew she could come to Cara at any time – day or night – about anything, and Cara hoped she would.

  ‘For?’ Cara said.

  ‘Flouncing off yesterday. Missing supper. Being a pain. I should be grateful, right, that we’ve got a computer now?’

  ‘Apology accepted,’ Cara said. There would be no point going over old ground. She could see Mae was genuinely contrite about her bad manners and that was enough. ‘And yes, we must be grateful for Rosie’s generosity, yet again. I don’t know what we’d have done without her, you know …’