One Summer in Cornwall

by Karen King

  They both turned around as they heard the door open next door. It was Marcus, heading off for work. He glanced over the wall and waved.

  Hattie waved back. ‘This is my dad. Dad, this is Marcus.’

  ‘I can see that; you’ve got the same features,’ Marcus told her. He nodded at Owen. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Rowland.’

  ‘Owen, please. And thank you for looking after Albert, and helping Hattie,’ Owen told him.

  Marcus raised an eyebrow questioningly.

  ‘I told Dad how you helped me with the decluttering,’ Hattie told him.

  ‘Ah, well, it was a pleasure. Now, you’ll have to excuse me, I’m due in work soon.’

  ‘We’re coming up for a meal later. I want to show Dad the hotel,’ Hattie told him. ‘Will you be able to join us afterwards in the bar?’ What made her ask him that? An urge to see as much of him as she could before she left, she realised.

  ‘I’ll try to, but you’ll have to hang about until just gone ten, I’m working until then.’

  ‘That’s no problem. We can have a leisurely meal and a drink while we’re waiting,’ Owen said.

  ‘See you later, then.’ Marcus nodded then dashed off.

  ‘He seems a nice chap. He’s a chef, you say?’ Owen said.

  ‘In the evenings. He’s an artist too, so he paints in the daytime. He did a portrait for Lord Thomwell’s birthday, he lives in a big Manor near Truro. And he had some paintings in an exhibition a couple of weeks ago,’ she added, suddenly realising that she hadn’t asked Marcus how he’d got on. She guessed he hadn’t won or he would have told her. She must ask him to show her the portrait of Buddy before she left, though. She could take a photo of it and frame it.

  ‘Very impressive,’ Owen said. ‘You two seem pretty friendly. I guess he’s going to miss having you as a neighbour.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She was definitely going to miss him. ‘Do you want to go for a walk along the harbour front then we can head to the hotel?’

  ‘I’d love to. It was always one of my favourite places in Port Medden. I used to go with Albert on his boat, you know, when I was in my teens.’

  ‘Did you really?’ Hattie was fascinated. ‘So you were really close at one time?’ She grabbed her keys and they both walked out into the hall.

  ‘We were,’ Owen said. As they walked down to the harbour he told her about some of his fishing trips with Albert and Hattie thought once again what a shame it was that he had lost touch with his older step-brother. Just as she had almost lost touch with her Dad.

  Well now they were back on track. And she and Nick were on a better footing too. Thanks to Uncle Albert they were a reunited family.

  They were looking over the harbour now. Hattie took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of sea air and fish. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Uncle Albert was so lucky to live here. No wonder he never wanted to move.’

  She felt her dad’s eyes on her. ‘You really love Port Medden, don’t you?’

  Damn, she hadn’t meant to sound so enthusiastic. She didn’t want him to feel guilty that she had to move out. ‘Doesn’t everyone love the seaside?’ she said lightly.

  Mandy greeted them enthusiastically when they arrived at the hotel, and Sue came out to say hello too, telling Owen how Hattie had saved Ellie and Reece’s wedding day. ‘She works magic with that camera,’ she said.

  ‘They seem to think a lot of you here,’ Owen said as they tucked into their meal.

  ‘They’ve been very kind to me. It really is a lovely place,’ Hattie told him. She lowered her head as tears stung her eyes. What the heck was she doing, bursting into tears in front of her dad? Hopefully he hadn’t noticed. It was because she was so sad at leaving Port Medden. It was suddenly hitting her that this was her last weekend here. She was actually going. And she so desperately didn’t want to.

  Grow up, you’re just being sentimental. You knew this was only ever temporary. You’ll soon find somewhere else just as nice to live.

  She managed to pull herself together and they chatted easily through the meal. Owen asked to see some of the photos she’d taken, and Hattie showed him some of them on her phone. She showed him the board in the reception area with the photos of the members of staff that she’d taken. ‘They’re on the hotel Facebook page too,’ she said. ‘And Marcus did that painting over there.’ She pointed to the painting of The Storm. ‘I told you that he was talented.’

  ‘He certainly is,’ Owen agreed.

  After dinner, they went for a drink in the hotel bar and Marcus joined them.

  ‘Have you lived down here long, Marcus?’ Owen asked.

  Marcus told him he’d grown up there, and when his mum had remarried and moved away he’d missed Port Medden so much he’d moved in with his grandparents.

  ‘And you wouldn’t want to move away?’ Owen asked. He seemed genuinely interested, Hattie thought in surprise.

  Marcus took a sip of his lager before replying. ‘No, I love it here. It’s the sort of place that calls to you. Some people like the busyness of big cities, but me, I like quietness, stillness, to be by the sea. I like to ride the waves and walk barefoot along the shore.’ He suddenly looked embarrassed. ‘And I’ve gone on a bit there!’

  ‘It’s good to hear someone so enthusiastic about a place,’ Owen told him. ‘And I hear you’re an artist too.’

  ‘An award-winning artist,’ Danny, the barman, said, collecting their empty glasses. ‘He likes to keep it quiet, though. I wouldn’t have known, if I didn’t read it in the paper. You must be proud,’ he said to Hattie.

  ‘What?’ Hattie looked from Marcus to the barman in astonishment. ‘You mean that you won that exhibition?’

  ‘Danny,’ Marcus said but Danny did no more than pick up the local paper from off the coffee table and open it to the second page.

  ‘There. Didn’t you know?’

  Hattie stared at the article in front of her. It announced that local artist Marcus Wilson had won top prize in an exhibition in London. Below it was a photo of the award-winning painting. And it wasn’t Buddy. It was Hattie in her black leathers astride her motorbike.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Hattie was staring incredulously at the photo. She looked stunned. Speechless. Hell, he hadn’t wanted her to find out like that, he’d been trying to tell her but how do you tell someone that you’ve done a secret painting of them and entered it into an exhibition? It sounded a bit stalkerish.

  ‘That is a marvellous painting, you’ve really caught Hattie’s spirit,’ Owen said admiringly. ‘I’d love to see the original.’

  ‘It’s still at the exhibition at the moment,’ Marcus told him, his eyes on Hattie. Her gaze was on him now, her eyes wide, her expression hard to read.

  ‘When did you do this? Why didn’t you tell me?’ she demanded.

  ‘I was going to, I only heard that I won last week, then you had the news that the house sale was going through quicker than you thought and, well, it never seemed the right time.’

  ‘How much are you selling the painting for?’ Owen asked.

  Marcus shook his head. ‘It isn’t for sale.’

  He wished he could read Hattie’s expression. Was she angry? Pleased? It was hard to tell.

  He could feel Owen’s eyes on him, scrutinising him. He was probably thinking that it was a creepy thing to do, to paint someone and not tell them. He’d be right too. Whatever had possessed him to do it?

  Because I wanted a memento of her, something to remember her by when she had gone.

  Owen glanced from Marcus to Hattie, then got to his feet. ‘Well, excuse me while I go to the loo.’

  He was giving them time to talk, Marcus realised. He leaned over the table. ‘I’m sorry. I should have told you but you were so busy with the move.’ He paused. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘You painted it from that photo you took of me at Lord Thomwell’s birthday,,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

  He nodded, trying to figure out
whether she was pleased or upset. ‘You looked so alive . . .’ And sexy and gorgeous.

  ‘Why did you paint a picture of me and enter it into an exhibition without telling me?’

  Why indeed. He frowned, trying to find the words to explain. ‘I didn’t intend to enter it in the exhibition, but Lady Thomwell saw it and talked me into it. She took it down to London herself.’

  ‘You showed it to Lady Thomwell – and probably Estelle – but not to me?’

  Okay, so she wasn’t pleased, she was upset.

  ‘I didn’t mean them to see it, they followed me up to the attic instead of waiting outside for me to bring the painting of Buddy down.’ He rested his elbows on the table and leaned across. ‘I’ve been trying to find the right time to tell you. I was going to tell you today but then I saw your dad was here and, well, I wanted to catch you on your own.’

  ‘Dad’s signing the sale papers for the cottage, we’re exchanging on Monday and completing on Tuesday. When exactly did you plan on telling me? The day I left?’

  ‘I’m sorry if you’re upset . . .’

  ‘Upset? You blasted me for taking a photo of you surfing without your permission, remember? Yet you think it’s okay to paint my portrait and put it in an exhibition without telling me?’

  She looked furious. And she was right to be. He should have told her. How could he explain? Just tell her, she’s leaving anyway so what does it matter?

  ‘I told you, I didn’t mean to put the painting in an exhibition, that was Lady Thomwell’s idea,’ he blurted out. ‘I painted it for myself, as something to remember you by.’

  Hattie was stunned. Why did Marcus want something to remember her by? Could he possibly have feelings for her like she did for him? If so, why hadn’t he said before, instead of leaving it until now, when she was leaving?

  And the painting, it was beautiful. It made her look sexy, exciting . . . is that how he saw her?

  He was looking at her now, and she was sure that was love she saw in his eyes. She couldn’t tear her gaze from him, she wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel his skin against hers.

  God, this was hopeless. Why now?

  ‘Hattie . . .’ his voice seemed to come from deep within his throat.

  She pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘I can’t do this.

  Not now.’

  Fighting back tears, she ran out of the bar into the reception, where her dad was talking to Mandy.

  ‘All right, love?’ he asked as she desperately tried to pull herself together.

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. ‘Do you mind if we go home now?’

  ‘Of course we can.’

  ‘Remember to come and say goodbye to us before you leave,’ Mandy told her.

  ‘I will.’ Her voice sounded wobbly and she was sure she was going to burst into tears right there.

  Her father followed her out of the hotel and they walked down the hill in silence, neither of them saying a word until they were back at Fisherman’s Rest. Still struggling to compose herself, Hattie put the kettle on.

  ‘Are you all right, love? Did the painting upset you?’

  She tried to find the words to express how she felt without letting her dad know she was in love with Marcus. ‘It was a bit of a shock, that’s all. It’s the last thing I expected him to do. And to not tell me . . .’ Her voice trailed off and she stared down into her drink.

  ‘He must think a lot of you.’

  Startled, she raised her head, her eyes flicking to her father’s face, then away again. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘It’s obvious. He painted it in secret, and the painting is so personal to him that he won’t sell it. And as it’s the winning painting in the exhibition, I bet there are collectors who would pay a lot of money for it.’

  Hattie bit her lip. She couldn’t cope with this now, thinking that Marcus might love her as she loved him.

  ‘Do you . . . think a lot of him too?’ Her father’s voice was quiet.

  ‘We’re friends, that’s all.’

  ‘Is that because you’re selling this cottage and moving away, so you both don’t want to take things any further?’

  We have taken things further and it was wonderful. She forced herself to meet his scrutinising gaze. She didn’t want him feeling guilty about selling the cottage, he needed the money. ‘It just wouldn’t work between us, Dad. It’s a good job I am moving away,’ she told him.

  ‘If you’re sure?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  So why did she end up crying into her pillow that night, not able to hold back her tears at the thought of never seeing Marcus again?

  The next morning, she pulled herself together, washed her face in cold water to ease her swollen eyes, and smoothed on a layer of foundation to try and reduce the redness. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Passable. Then she pasted a big smile on her face and went downstairs, where her dad was already up, sitting out in the back yard drinking a coffee.

  ‘You’re an early bird,’ she told him, pulling up the chair next to him and sitting on it. ‘Couldn’t you sleep? I know the seagulls are a bit noisy.’

  He took a gulp of his coffee before replying. ‘It wasn’t the seagulls, it was my thoughts that kept me awake. I was thinking of all the holidays we had down here with Albert. They were good times, weren’t they?’

  She nodded, surprised to hear that her dad had been reminiscing.

  ‘Albert loved this cottage. And I can see that you do too. You’ve transformed it, but still kept its character. You’ve made it your home instead of Albert’s home.’

  That’s how she thought of the cottage, as her home. But it wasn’t, it was soon going to be home to a string of holidaymakers. ‘I made it nice so we could sell it quicker,’ she said, not wanting her dad to feel guilty about having to sell.

  Owen drained his coffee and put the mug down on the table, then turned to her. He took both her hands in his, his gaze on her face. ‘Hattie, I want you to answer something truthfully for me. Will you do that?’

  Uh-oh, was he going to ask her if she was in love with Marcus? She nodded slowly, bracing herself for the question.

  ‘If you could stay in this cottage, live here in Port Medden, would you want to?’

  What should she say? She couldn’t live here and she didn’t want him to feel bad about selling but she had promised to tell the truth.

  ‘Well, I do like it here, but don’t worry, I’ll soon find somewhere else I like just as much,’ she told him. ‘Don’t feel bad about us having to sell. I always knew I was only here for a little while, and it’s done me good. I know what I want to do with my life now.’

  ‘Be a self-employed photographer, you mean?’

  ‘Yes, you’d be amazed how many commissions I’ve had, Dad. I really think I can make a go of it.’

  He was still holding her hands. ‘Then let’s not sell the cottage. You stay here. You can buy me out, paying so much a month. What do you say?’

  For a moment, she thought she hadn’t heard right. She stared at him and he smiled and nodded. She swallowed. Was he serious? ‘You need the money though, don’t you? For the B&B? Nick said you were desperate for it.’

  ‘I need ten thousand now to pay off the one loan that moves to high interest next month, the rest of the loans are low interest so if you could pay me back enough each month to cover them that would be fine. I thought maybe we could raise the ten thousand against the house then take it off what you owe me.’

  ‘We don’t need to. I have that. I’ve got my redundancy money. I can give you ten thousand out of that and still have enough to live on while I set my business up.’ She couldn’t believe this was really happening.

  ‘That’s brilliant. And I don’t want the full asking price for the cottage, not off my own daughter.’ He mentioned a much lower sum and a monthly payment that Hattie could manage easily. Even if her photography business didn’t take off as well as she hoped, a part-time job would easily cover the cott
age payment and food.

  ‘Are you sure, Dad?’

  ‘I’m positive. I can see how much you love the cottage and I’d like to keep it in the family. I reckon Albert would approve too.’

  Hattie clapped her hands in delight. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘Right, well, now that’s settled, I’ll phone the solicitor and tell him the sale is off.’

  ‘I should feel guilty about that but I don’t,’ Hattie said. ‘The Bryants just wanted the place as a holiday home. They’ll soon find another one. I don’t think Jonathan will be pleased, though.’

  ‘That can’t be helped,’ Owen said, picking up his phone.

  Hattie listened as her Dad told the solicitor that they had changed their mind about selling Fisherman’s Rest, Hattie would be buying him out and living in it. Then he asked him to draw up all the necessary paperwork for Hattie to buy his half of the cottage. After that, he phoned Jonathan to let him know the sale was off. ‘Now, how about we go out for lunch to celebrate you being the owner of Fisherman’s Rest,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, Dad!’ Hattie threw her arms around his neck and gave him a big hug.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  It had been a wonderful weekend. Hattie and her dad had talked a lot, built a lot of bridges, and she was really looking forward to visiting him at Christmas.

  ‘Bring a friend if you want,’ he said as he hugged her goodbye on Monday.

  She glanced at him. ‘That’s very kind of you.’ She didn’t ask him which friend; she knew who he meant. Her dad had got this idea in his head that Marcus was in love with her. He was wrong. If he was in love with her, he would have told her, asked her not to leave. He didn’t even know now that she wasn’t leaving anymore, and she wasn’t going to knock on his door and tell him. She wasn’t staying for him. She was staying because she loved the cottage and Port Medden. Because this was the place she wanted to live.

  She felt a bit sad as she waved her father goodbye. For the first time since she was a child, she felt close to him again, and had really enjoyed his company. He’d been so kind and understanding, and she was overwhelmed at the fact that Fisherman’s Rest was now her home. Forever. She closed the door and went back into the lounge, looking around happily.