A Manor in Cornwall

by Laura Briggs

  Kitty stopped in front of me. She was slightly shorter than I was, but that was because my high heels and her battered red sneakers placed us at different eye levels. Her dark hair was almost black and rather untamed, while freckles were visible on her fair skin, across the cheekbones just beneath her greenish-blue eyes.

  "Follow me," I said. And I led the way to my office, aware that Pippa and Gemma were both watching with disapproval.

  "Basically, this is a simple job," I said. "I want the piles of paperwork on my desk sorted into separate stacks of bills, sketches, and receipts. Any file folders go in the cabinet by the big antique globe, in alphabetical order. And if I need an errand run, you'll pop out and do it for me so I don't have to leave while they're working downstairs. Does that sound manageable?"

  Kitty stood in the middle of the room, her hands stuck deep in the pockets of her old canvas coat. Underneath it, she wore a red hooded jacket and a pair of jeans cuffed at the bottom because they were too long. The only time she took her hands out was to lightly touch the globe, her fingers giving it a deft spin on its axis.

  "All right," she answered. She shrugged her shoulders. There was a decided lack of interest or enthusiasm in her voice, and a decided coolness — it was the audible expression of a poker face, almost.

  "You arranged the flowers in the vases yesterday, didn't you? The ones Lina had put there by mistake," I said.

  Kitty looked at me. "Yeah?" she said. Cautiously. "So?" She pulled off her old coat and, for lack of a better place to leave it, folded it on the floor.

  "Did you ever work with flowers before yesterday?"

  "Me gran had a shop once," she said. "I used to do flowers there. I learned some stuff from her. A bit, anyways." This part was added as if to keep me from getting my hopes up.

  Hmm. Well, this was only a temporary arrangement, and if Kitty's eye for colors was a clue to her inner self, she could handle the mess on my desk without a problem. So I left her to it as I caught up on phone calls to the exclusive London caterer serving the private concert.

  "What do you think, Julianne? Is it too much?" Pippa had appeared now, holding up a picture on her smart phone for my approval. It was a pale white dress with a sheer neckline and sleeves — simple, but very sophisticated, and very expensive, I imagined.

  "It's gorgeous," I said. "Where did you see it?"

  "In a shop in Truro. Right next to this posh bridesmaid's dress in bright pink," said Pippa. "So do you think I can pull it off?"

  "Julianne, tell her not to buy a bridesmaids' dress!" protested Gemma. "I'll wear my old one from your wedding. With the fortune she's spending on that gown, she'll need to save every bit she can." She folded her arms and gave Pippa a look. "She's practically blowing her whole budget on it."

  "But it's so beautiful," said Pippa.

  "Maybe we can find something similar for a little less," I suggested. "Let me look around when I'm in Truro — maybe I can persuade them to lower the price a little, if nothing else."

  In the past, I had dealt with more than a few shops that sold wedding clothes secondhand. Probably not what Pippa had in mind, but sometimes beautiful dresses were available through them for only a fraction of the original cost. Surely I could find a similar deal somewhere in Cornwall, I thought, and score a dream dress that fit Pippa's budget.

  "Oh, Julianne, thank you, thank you!" said Pippa. "Even just a few quid lower —"

  "What about your flowers? What about your reception site?" said Gemma. "Those things cost money, too, Pip. You can't possibly afford half of what you want." She looked at me now. "Has she told you she wants the Silver Perch?"

  The Silver Perch was a swanky tea house just outside the village, newly opened by the well-to-do Lily Hammond, whose chic figure was the only one in Ceffylgwyn that kept up with London fashions on a monthly basis. I imagined the private room that Pippa undoubtedly had her eye on would cost just as much to reserve as Cliffs House's parlor, maybe twice as much, given Lily's exclusive taste.

  "It's just an idea," said Pippa, meekly. "I mean, I'm never getting married again, am I? Well, probably not ... at least not with a proper dress and everything. I just want it to be a bit special."

  "Then ask Lady Amanda to give you a proper discount here," said Gemma.

  "But I don't want to have it here," said Pippa. "I want somewhere new, somewhere exciting! A bit of boiled lobster dining in Land's End or maybe with burning torches and candles on some beach in Newquay —"

  I heard a snort from the area of my desk. Evidently, Kitty was listening to our conversation. Pippa had heard it, too, and wrinkled her nose at the girl.

  "You can keep your opinions to yourself," shot Pippa in her direction, loftily. "You weren't good enough for the likes of Land's End in the first place."

  "I think I'd rather be married in a posh old parlor than in some cheap tourist seafood restaurant that stinks of seaweed and fish guts," retorted Kitty. "I'm not daft."

  "Since the chances of you ever catching a man's fancy —" began Pippa, before I interrupted.

  "Kitty, would you mind running downstairs to ask Geoff for those measurements on the stage?" I asked. "If he's not around, just wait for him to show up and tell him I've asked him to double check them."

  It was an excuse to avoid whatever quarrel was between these two, and I suspected Kitty knew it. But she simply rose and went out of my office, leaving behind the beginnings of two very orderly stacks of papers on my desk. She cast a sullen glance in Pippa's direction, who turned up her nose in response.

  "What's all that noise?" Lady Amanda called. "I can hear you all the way from my office, where I'm trying very hard not to concentrate on the tourism board's exploitation of this concert!"

  "Lady Amanda —" began Gemma. Pippa hurried after her — no doubt to stop her from booking Cliffs House's small parlor on her behalf. I decided to follow along, too, since they would probably be shouting for me in a few minutes' time.

  "It's only that Pippa wants her reception to be at some posh, expensive spot —" I heard Gemma continue.

  "I only want someplace nice and different, where I haven't been every day of my life," protested Pippa. "Half my crowd goes to the Fisherman's Rest after they've said their vows."

  "Well," began Lady Amanda, thoughtfully, tapping her chin, "I suppose we could always —"

  Gemma, who had sat down on the window seat during this discussion, now released a slow whistle. "Who's that dishy stranger coming up the path?"

  "What?" Pippa replied, joining her at the window. Her whistle echoed Gemma's. "He's not from around here, is he?" she said. "Juli, you have to see him —"

  "Looks like a proper billionaire in those clothes, right out of the romance novels."

  "Let me see," said Lady Amanda, eagerly — I tried not to laugh, imagining if Lord William was watching. "Dearie me, he is dishy, isn't he? Julianne, come here!"

  "Hurry, before he disappears!" said Pippa, beckoning me frantically.

  "All right, I'm coming," I answered. I slipped off my spiky Valentino shoes in order to make better time crossing the room, wedging in between the three of them kneeling on the window seat. Below, a stranger with sandy blond hair was pacing along the gravel paths, dressed to the nines in a fashionable dark suit and overcoat. In one hand, he held a smart phone, and was obviously deeply engaged in conversation as he walked.

  I sucked in my breath. "I'm in perfect agreement," I said. "He's definitely one of the handsomest guys I've seen. So nobody here recognizes him at all?"

  "Who do you think it is?" repeated Gemma. "Imagine if it were someone like Ewan McGregor — or Chris Hemsworth?" She giggled. "Down below in our gardens."

  "The event promoter," guessed Lady Amanda. "That must be who he is. He's arriving today, I think. One of you will have to go down and greet him, I suppose. I'd go, but I'm expecting a very important call from the president of the tourism council."

  "Not me," squeaked Pippa. "I’m engaged now, remember?" Probably she was more horrifi
ed by the fact that she was covered in plaster dust than for the thought of offending Gavin. "Send Gemma."

  "I'm not going down in these old togs! Not to meet someone who looks as dishy as him!"

  "I'll go," I said. I was sure Matt would forgive me for my briefly-admiring glance at a tall and handsome stranger, since I clearly preferred the dark and mysterious type. "But you'll have to come down eventually, Lady Amanda — I need reinforcements for rounding up the staff." Shoving my feet in my shoes again, I made my way to the front hall.

  I wasn't the first person to greet the new event promoter, however. Because through the front door propped open for the furniture's removal, I saw him turn around in time to collide with a swift-moving figure in the courtyard, carrying a crate of board trimmings. The figure, a girl in a red hooded sweatshirt, didn't slow down, even though the man's mobile phone fell and landed on the paving stones.

  "Hey, watch it," he said, in a very American accent. "You could hurt someone with that stuff." He pointed to the jagged ends of the boards sticking out of her crate.

  "You should watch where you're going," she retorted, now glancing back at him. "You're so slow and chatty that I could've stolen your wallet off you in two seconds and you'd never have felt it."

  His eyes widened. "What?"

  "You heard me," said Kitty, amusedly — but not nicely. It was still the first real emotion from her lips other than scorn.

  "Even it if was somehow my fault, don't you think you owe me an apology since you nearly broke my phone?"

  "Emmet." This muttered word was Kitty's parting shot as she kept on walking, paired with an eye roll that the stranger didn't see, but I did.

  "That's not my name, thank you very much!" he retorted.

  Unlike him, I knew this was local slang for slow and oblivious tourists, and I winced at this insult. I hurried outside. "Hi," I said. "You're Wendy Alistair's representative, right? Julianne Rose." I stuck out my hand and smiled.

  "Oh, an American," he said, looking relieved. "Hi. Nathan Menton." He shook hands with me. Up close, I could see that he was every bit as attractive as from the window's view. He was in his early or mid twenties, his smile a charming one as he looked me in the eye.

  "So, shall I show you around the place?" I said.

  "I don't know if you're aware of this, but that girl who just came out is really —"

  "This way to the ballroom, where I'll introduce you to all the staff," I said, quickly, escorting him through the door, and trying hard to change the subject from that of surly estate employees. "I think you'll love what we're doing."

  Gemma and Geoff helped me assemble the staff in the middle of the workspace where the temporary stage was being constructed. I spotted Lina among them, looking somewhat sullen herself, her platinum blonde hair covered in a fine dusting of sawdust and plaster.

  It took a few minutes to round everyone up again. I stepped forwards once the ballroom was quiet.

  "Everyone, I have an important announcement," I said. "This is Nathan Menton, Wendy Alistair's public relations representative. He'll be spending the next couple of weeks here, helping stage the event, and we'll be assisting him with whatever he needs."

  Midway through my opening sentence, Kitty had made her way back inside, to the fringes of the gathering. I thought the rest of my announcement would probably have an effect on her, and I was right — the girl's glance, after latching onto Nathan, had dropped to the floor for the rest of the statement. Maybe she was sorry for what happened previously.

  "Thanks, everyone," said Nathan. "I'm sure we'll all make a great team, and I look forward to working with you." A giggle or two followed from some of the girls, no doubt for his American accent — or his good looks. He gave the group a broad, friendly smile ... but something about it made me think it was his business-only one.

  The group dispersed back to their activities, helping Geoff measure for the stage's underlying supports, except for the two unlucky volunteers who were helping Gemma clean the walls with long-handled dusters. Kitty was still standing there, as if uncertain what her job was now.

  I took a deep breath. "Kitty, if you've already had a word with Geoff, you can go back to sorting papers, if you like."

  That cool glance didn't change, but she stuck her hands in her pockets and made her way towards the ballroom doorway. She brushed past Nathan Menton, who was traveling the opposite way — he glanced at her with obvious recognition.

  "You're the girl from before," he said. "Look, if I owe you an apology —"

  "You don't owe me anything," she scoffed, giving him a look that suggested he was crazy for suggesting it. From the look on Mr. Menton's face, I gathered he was thinking the same thing about her as she walked away.

  So maybe Kitty wasn't sorry after all.

  He turned to me. "Is that girl part of the staff?" he asked, jerking his thumb in her direction.

  "Sort of," I hesitated. Imagining what he would think if he caught a glimpse of Kitty working in my personal office, for instance. "She's part of the temporary help at the estate this week."

  "Well, I hate to break it to you, but I think she's a little psycho. Maybe you should find somebody else," he said. "By the way, after I talk to —" he sneaked a glance at his phone, where I realized he had been keying in all the names from my staff sheet, "—Geoffrey Weatherby, is there a place we can all meet?"

  "Sure," I said. "Upstairs."

  The ballroom didn't satisfy Mr. Menton's expectations, it seems. He had bigger — grander — ideas in mind for this album release party.

  "Indoors, we're too confined," he said. "It won't cut it. This event is expanding lightning fast — we've already got ITV interested —"

  "ITV?" piped up Gemma, excitedly. She and Pippa were supposed to be silent bystanders — both pretending to clean Lady Amanda's office while the rest of us — me, Lady Amanda, and Geoff — joined Nathan in conference.

  "Exactly," said Nathan. "A televised special. That's why this has to be dramatic, see? We're talking tourism growth — fans flocking to this place, wanting to see where Wendy Alistair sang the classical standards they love. Flocking here, to Cliffs House — think of the boost this will be for visitors and clients wanting to come to this place. The boost in commerce for local businesses, who probably can't imagine the number of people this will attract to their part of the world."

  I saw a spark of excitement in Lady Amanda's eyes for the words 'tourism,' and 'local commerce' — after all, Lady Amanda was part of the council working hard to promote Ceffylgwyn and surrounding villages as English landmarks everyone should see. Their group hadn't been blind to the prospects presented by Wendy Alistair's visit these past few weeks, either.

  "We need the grand scope of Cornwall in the background," continued Nathan. "Big rocks, sweeping waves. You get the idea, don't you? That's what people are coming to see — Cornwall's natural beauty."

  "Why does this place have to finally get interesting now that I'm leaving?" moaned Pippa.

  The part about natural Cornwall restored Lady Amanda to reality, it seems. "There's no place on the estate with a view of the sea where we could possibly seat hundreds of people," she said.

  "You've got the sea right out your front door, practically," said Nathan.

  Lady Amanda and I exchanged glances of horror. I imagined Matt's beautiful flower beds uprooted for a makeshift stage — hundreds of people trampling the lawn and gravel walkways to ruins, with big black light cables snaking along the ornamental boulders —

  "There's not enough room in the cliffs gardens," said Lady Amanda. "Not for so many chairs. Or for building a stage, as far as that goes. We couldn't possibly rearrange the rocks or the cliffs, you realize."

  "What about the rest of the estate's property?" I asked.

  Geoff released a slight cough. "Most of the seasonal crops have not been harvested," he pointed out. The immediate acreage was planted in a winter food supply for livestock, I remembered, a favor to a local sheep farmer. "The fields wer
e planted this season. Even without this fact, they're rather unsuitable for what you have in mind."

  "One part isn't," said Kitty.

  She stood in the doorway, hands in her sweatshirt pockets. "Papers are sorted," she said to me, as if the previous statement hadn't been spoken at all.

  "What part are you talking about?" Lady Amanda asked. "What part of the estate?"

  "That little clearing on the other side of the grove," said Kitty. "You can see the water from it. Behind some timber, anyway." Everyone was looking at her, so she shrugged her shoulders. "I cut through there sometimes," she said, even though this spot clearly wasn't on the way to anywhere.

  Geoff looked thoughtful. "She's right. There is a little dell of sorts, running behind a natural stand of timber Lord William preserved," he said. "Not terribly large, and a little overgrown, perhaps —"

  "Could we get power to it?" said Nathan. "Can we put in seats for the concertgoers? A camera and sound crew? Because if we can, then that's the spot."

  "We could construct a stage, of course," said Geoff. "And perhaps we can conceal your power sources behind some distant trees and rocks...."

  "Let's make the stage look like a natural rock rise, okay?" said Nathan, who was keying something into his smart phone, fingers moving like lightning. "I want this to look very natural, very beautiful. We'll bring in some boulders from a local quarry if we have to."

  I exchanged glances with Lady Amanda again, who quirked one eyebrow upwards in amusement.

  "Here's what I'm thinking," said Nathan. "Half the numbers are inside that ballroom. Very classy, very Old World charm in an intimate atmosphere with 'music room' decor —"

  I thought of the spinet on hold with Kelly Forrester, and crossed my fingers that she was hurrying back from London.

  "— then the rest is in this natural setting, sunset, dusk, darkness. I'll get a lighting crew out here to assess the possibility. And when darkness falls at the close, we shoot off some fireworks. What do you think?"

  "It sounds ... exciting," said Lady Amanda. Who looked dubious, but interested.