Yes, Cara told herself as she cleared up after another full house breakfast session, she’d made the right decision to turn Cove End into a business. She’d had to turn away at least a dozen potential B&B guests because she was full up. Her bank balance was beginning to look healthier and she’d paid Tom back his fifty pounds, which he’d accepted gracefully. If she was honest with herself, Cara was beginning to feel almost happy again. Being a landlady wasn’t hard. She’d got herself into a routine of doing breakfast, then rushing round the downstairs rooms with the vacuum and the polish, before doing the bathrooms and putting fresh towels in the guests’ rooms if they were stopping more than one night.
She was enjoying having people around her again. Even Mae seemed to have lost her hard edge a little, not that she was around as much as she had been, seeing as she now had two jobs to go to. And then guilt over Mark would kick in for Cara. She’d re-hung the paintings they’d bought back from the pubs, but somehow they looked, to Cara anyway, all wrong without Mark in the house too. It had been a relief when Mae had asked if she could have them in her room instead, and that perhaps they could buy something from the art festival to take their place.
‘We’ll see,’ Cara had told her.
Not that Mae seemed too troubled about the paintings, or even missing her dad, at the moment because she was spending more and more time with Bailey Lucas when she wasn’t working. She was with him now, grabbing a coffee at the Lobster Pot before doing her shift in the ice-cream kiosk, so she’d told Cara before bounding off happily.
‘Anyone home?’
Ah, Rosie. Cara hadn’t seen her since the night she’d clouted Tom, although they’d texted one another a few times.
‘In here!’ Cara called back.
Rosie came into the breakfast room.
‘Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes,’ Cara told her as they hugged and air-kissed. ‘I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.’
‘As if,’ Rosie said.
‘So, give. What’s been happening?’
‘Sitting on my hands mostly,’ Rosie said.
‘Eh?’
‘Ha ha, got you. You’ve got no idea what I’m talking about have you?’
‘No. Didn’t have my brain food for breakfast this morning. You’ll have to unravel the riddle.’
Gosh but it was good to see her.
‘You first. I know you’ve had guests because I’ve been snooping and I’ve seen comments on your website. Good ones. But none from …’ Rosie stopped talking and pointed a finger up at the ceiling. She waggled her head from side to side. ‘Still here?’
‘He is,’ Cara grinned, totally unable to hide the fact she was glad he was.
‘And thereby hangs my reason for not calling before. You know me. I wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands off him. And I hope you haven’t either!’
‘Rosie!’ Cara said. ‘Ssh, keep your voice down.’
‘Hah. That tells me you haven’t. Got your hands all over him, I mean. Any coffee left in that pot?’
Cara picked it up and gave it a little shake, glad that the conversation was moving on.
‘Just about. It might not be that hot though. I’ll …’
‘Not just yet,’ Rosie said, plonking herself down on one of the wicker chairs by the window. She took a newspaper from the huge bag she always carried – a journalist’s bag she always called it, although Rosie had never been a journalist, but it was big enough for a laptop and any number of other things. ‘The reason for my mission, apart from seeing you and Mr Gorgeous, of course. Have you seen this?’
The this in question was a newspaper. Cara didn’t have a lot of time for reading newspapers, even if she could now afford them.
Rosie opened the newspaper to the middle and laid it out on the table in front of her – a two-page spread about Tom with photos of some of his paintings.
‘Do you have any idea just how big Tom Gasson-Smith is?’
‘About six foot two?’ Cara joked.
‘Very funny. No, I mean, as an artist. Look – it’s all over the Western Morning News that people are going to flock to this festival just to see him. He’s a sort of Jack Vetriano in the way he paints women, except Tom paints them without clothes on.’
‘I haven’t noticed a trail of women going up my stairs to his room. He’s not any bother. He brings his bed-linen and towels down and puts them in the washing machine. He even presses the button.’
‘Ooh, a man who can multi-task!’ Rosie said with a giggle. ‘But I think, here, it’s a case of the lady doth protest too much! You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you? And you haven’t done anything about it? I’ve been expecting a text to tell me he’s been wining and dining you, and keeping you awake all night, but I haven’t had one.’
‘I’m not answering that,’ Cara said.
Cara was used to Rosie and her forthright way of going about things, but she was overstepping the mark here a bit.
‘Ah ha. Sometimes it’s what people don’t say rather than what they do that tells the real truth. Anyway, domesticity is all very well, but that man is sensuality on legs. And you, Cara Howard, do not have a jealous gene in your entire body, do you?’
‘Sometimes,’ Cara laughed. ‘But as my old Granny Rachel used to say, it’s a total waste of brain space, jealousy. Either do something about it if you don’t like a situation or get over it. Not that she said “get over it” back then, but you know what I mean.’
‘Which is just as well because there’s more.’ Rosie stabbed a finger at the second page, halfway down.’
‘Read it to me,’ Cara said. She went over and closed the door of the breakfast room. ‘My glasses are in my room.’
‘You’re a coward, Mrs Howard,’ Rosie quipped, laughing at her own joke. ‘Seems – according to this although I know you can’t believe everything you read in newspapers – his wife will be showing not just her body in his paintings but her pottery as well.’
‘He told me he’s not showing nudes,’ Cara said. ‘I know his wife was his muse and I know she’s a potter. Ex-wife. Louise. She came down. And she went back the same day. She wanted to share Tom’s venue for the festival, but he said she couldn’t.’
Did Tom make some sketches of Louise when he went to London? Did she manage to persuade Tom to let her share his festival venue? Was that why he’d been keeping a low profile since his return from London?
Cara felt a bit sick now.
‘I’ve looked her up on Google,’ Rosie said. ‘On your behalf, seeing as I know you’re a saint and never would. Seems she’s been a bit of a cougar since the divorce. She’s just broken up from some spotty youth from a boy band.’
‘I didn’t ask you to do that,’ Cara said.
‘I know, darling,’ Rosie said. ‘Don’t be cross with me. I should get out more. All work and no play is making me a dull girlie at the moment. But I want you to be happy and you haven’t been for ages, and in my not-so-humble opinion I think Tom could be the man to do that. And as a bonus, I think you’re worth ten of her.’
Rosie’s words were coming out faster than the Waltzers at the fair.
‘Hah!’ Cara said. ‘I haven’t got her body, that’s for sure.’
‘Blimey,’ Rosie said, mock-wiping a fevered brow with the back of a hand. ‘Don’t tell me you looked at his website?’
‘I did. We both did, Mae and me. We thought they were quite tasteful actually. His paintings.’
‘They are. But she’s still no match for you. He might be a match for me for a few weeks, but I’d do my usual … take a delicious bite out of him, chew a bit, then spit him out again. I’ve been in lust hundreds of time, but never in love, and that wouldn’t be fair on Tom because my gut feeling is he deserves more than that. And that wouldn’t have been fair on you either, so I’ve stayed away.’
‘Very noble of you,’ Cara said.
‘Could I have a little smile of appreciation with that?’ Rosie grinned. She reached for Cara’s hand and pulled her
across the room. ‘Look in there.’
The ‘there’ in question was an exquisite art-deco mirror in a silver surround that had belonged to Cara’s great-grandmother, Emma.
‘You’re still beautiful,’ Rosie told her. ‘But you deserve stunning. The stunning that being with a man who adores you, and who you adore in return, gives. You know what I mean, and there’s only one word that fits in here – sex.’
‘That is a step too far,’ Cara said.
‘Possibly. But I do have big feet. Sevens,’ Rosie said. ‘So, I’ll plough on. You’ve been so wrapped up in widowhood and the good memories you have of Mark that …’
‘Stop it! I loved Mark. I didn’t love what he was doing to us as a family with his gambling, I won’t deny that. And I don’t want a lesson on how to run my life, thank you very much!’
Cara put her head in her hands. What was happening to her and Rosie? They’d almost never had a cross word before.
‘I know I’ve neglected you a bit lately,’ Cara continued, feeling contrite now. ‘But what with the B&B and what happened to Mae and, well, I couldn’t have done so much if you hadn’t been so generous about the computer and getting me back my ring and, well, everything. I’m sorry. I’ve not been the friend I should be.’
‘You’re just the friend you should be for me,’ Rosie said. ‘You ground me. I’d probably be far more flighty than I am if I didn’t have you as a friend and Mae as a goddaughter.’
‘Flighty’s a good word,’ Cara laughed.
‘So we’re still friends?’
‘We are. It’s just that it’s not easy hearing things we need to be told, perhaps.’
‘Had to be done,’ Rosie said. ‘My guess was you wouldn’t have seen that in the newspaper about his ex-wife coming down and the last thing I want is for her to do that and get her claws in Tom again. Seeing as she seems to be between toy boys. I know of women like that.’ Rosie made a sexy, pouty face. ‘I could be guilty as charged.’
‘You’re incorrigible.’
‘But you love me?’
‘When you’re not being too bossy.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes, then,’ Rosie said. ‘And I’ll have that coffee now. And lunch if there’s any going.’
‘There could be,’ Cara said.
‘Good. So, I’ve said my piece. I’m sorry if I made you a bit cross, but I do want you to be happy again and I think Tom is the man to help you. You’ve got to let him in, Cara.’
‘I’ve opened the door a bit,’ Cara said, smiling despite herself. ‘We’ve shared a kiss.’
‘Yay!’ Rosie said, punching the air. Then she came over all mock- serious. ‘Just the one? Why stint yourself?’
Cara sighed.
‘Mae is in the equation. She’s hated all this B&B stuff and resents Tom being here. Not a father replacement as such but a permanent presence in the house for weeks now. Although …’
‘Although she’s getting used to him now. She said.’
‘She told you that?’ Cara said.
‘Yep. I’m her godmother, remember, and I do my bit by checking in now and again to see how she is. And my guess is she told me because there’s the mother/daughter thing going on with you and her, and she’s shown so much hostility towards Tom that she’ll feel she’s backing down if she shows she’s starting to like him. And my other guess – because I’ve been around the block a bit – is she told me because she wanted me to tell you. So I am. For the record.’ Rosie took a deep breath. ‘Phew, that’s that off my 36B. You’ll be at his exhibition, won’t you?’
Cara laughed. So like Rosie to lay her cards down and then get on with the next thing on her mind.
‘He hasn’t asked me.’
‘Cara, stop being so wet! It’s a public exhibition – anyone can go!’
‘Right. Okay. I’ll go. Now will you stop harassing me? I don’t like us arguing.’
‘Arguing?’ Rosie said, laughing. ‘We weren’t arguing. We were merely having a mind-clearing discussion. There’s a difference.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes. You and Mae mean the whole world to me, orphan that I am. Rosie’s eyes pooled up. ‘But maudlin on a lovely sunny Sunday I do not do. What’s for lunch?’
‘I’ve got some cooked salmon. A bit of salad. Raspberries.’
‘Lead me to it,’ Rosie said.
The two friends ate lunch in the garden. Cara considered knocking on Tom’s door to say he could join them if he wanted to but decided against it. She wondered if he’d heard their voices – especially their raised voices – in the breakfast room.
‘That was yum,’ Rosie said. ‘Thank you. But I’m off now.’
Rosie leapt from her chair and began gathering her used dishes so fast and furious that Cara feared they’d break. But that was Rosie – everything was done at breakneck speed. She could be exhausting at times but also the breath of fresh air that Cara needed. She was seeing her situation with Tom through Rosie’s eyes now.
‘So,’ Rosie said, after she’d stacked the dishes in Cara’s dishwasher and rinsed her hands under the kitchen tap, ‘you did say Tom was upstairs, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. And I’m not going to disturb him if that’s what you’re thinking.’ She would think about what Rosie had said but would act on it – or not – in her own time. ‘Anyway, I’ve been doing some sewing. It might be another little string to my bow if …’
‘Diversion tactics!’ Rosie said. ‘You don’t fool me! Just ask him out, eh? A date. The worst he can say is no and then you’ll know exactly where you are. Wear your sexiest underwear and not something that’s been through the wash a million times that you wouldn’t even use as drain-wiping rags. Anyway, think about what I’ve said – Queen Victoria would never have married Prince Albert if she’d had to wait for him to pop the question!’
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘I see that bloke stopping at yours has got a solo exhibition in the village hall,’ Bailey said. ‘Big name that he is and all.’
Bailey had met Mae after her shift at the pub and they were now sitting on the harbour wall sharing an ice-cream. They’d become good friends but, well, Mae didn’t really want a romance like she’d had with Josh – it was all too painful when it went wrong and she didn’t think she could face that sort of thing for a while. But Bailey was all right. He didn’t try things on with her. And he hadn’t minded when she went silent on him thinking about her dad and stuff – didn’t take it personally.
‘Has he?’ Mae said, affecting nonchalance.
‘I think you know he has,’ Bailey said. ‘That or you’ve been walking about with your eyes shut for weeks because there are posters everywhere. Seen any of his work yet? Nudes and that. I looked on the internet.’
‘Yeah, I know what he paints. It’s not porn, you know.’
Mae took a bite of her ice-cream rather than the usual lick, swallowing it more quickly than she’d intended and it took her breath away.
‘Ah, so you’re warming to him,’ Bailey said.
Mae began to choke, so Bailey hit her on the back to help stop the coughing. When she got her breath back a bit, she expected Bailey to take his hand away but he didn’t, he left it there – a gentle warmth between her shoulder blades. Mae thought about wriggling away from him but decided not to … she sort of liked it, like he was protecting her.
‘What do you mean … warming to him?’ she asked.
‘You haven’t slagged him off lately. You know, moaned about him filling up the kitchen with his size twelves or whatever they are.’
‘Yeah, I know I used to go on a bit. Sorry.’
‘Better out than in, all that angst. What with the stuff about your dad and that. He …’ Bailey stopped talking to bat away a seagull that kept swooping at them, trying to steal their ice-creams. ‘Bugger off. That’s not directed at you, by the way, Mae. Anyway, back to this artist chap …’
‘Do we have to? He’ll be going soon anyway.’
‘How’s you
r mum going to feel about that?’
Mae felt herself stiffen at the unexpected question.
‘I dunno, she hasn’t said.’
‘Maybe ask her, then?’ Bailey said.
‘Hey, are you turning into a matchmaker or something?’ Mae said, licking frantically at her ice-cream now as it began to melt more quickly.
‘Nope. Could be that psychology course I took, though,’ Bailey said. ‘I only took it to get out of physics, which I’m not going to ever understand if I live to be a hundred. Makes you see things differently does psychology.’
‘What sort of things?’ Mae said. Bailey’s hand was still in the small of her back – it made her shiver thinking about it, but if she expected Bailey to take his hand away, he didn’t; he merely rubbed her back gently, soothingly, as though she was in some sort of pain or discomfort and much to Mae’s surprise she was enjoying that feeling.
‘Things like sometimes we have to give people space to be themselves and think things through for themselves and not go rushing in, even when rushing in might be what we want. Things like it can be better to just be there, stand back a little from the action as it were, and wait for that person to come to you.’
This was a new Bailey from the cocky Bailey who’d confronted her and Josh in Meg Smythson’s shop. She liked this new Bailey – just being there after she’d finished her shift, buying her a coffee, not wanting anything else from her?
‘And is that person who’s been standing back, waiting, you? And is that person you’ve been waiting for, me?’
‘Could be,’ Bailey said. He threw the end of his cornet to the gull that was inching closer along the harbour wall again. His hand moved from the middle of Mae’s back to her shoulder. Gently he pulled her towards him, and Mae let herself be pulled.
‘Thanks, you know, for being such a good psychology student,’ Mae said, a lump in her throat. ‘What’s the next stage?’
The Little B & B at Cove End Page 21