by Kate Field
Mim laughed, and it felt like such a relief after the tension of the last half hour.
‘They’re not all like her up north,’ she said. ‘There are good people too.’
‘I know.’ He looked at her and smiled.
‘She saw the story in the newspaper and tracked me down.’
‘Ah. Something else we owe you an apology for then. I’d no idea they were going to do that. I was away or I’d have stopped them,’ he said. ‘Mum and Lia had the best intentions. They always do. It doesn’t always help though, does it?’
‘No.’ They reached the gate and walked towards Mim’s caravan. She stopped at the bottom of the steps.
‘Thanks for believing me,’ she said.
‘Why wouldn’t I? You’re the most honest person I know. It’s one of the things…’ He stopped and put his hand on the banister rail. ‘I’m sorry about that conversation on the launch day. I only meant that I thought you disapproved of the idle rich. It wasn’t a criticism of you. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ It was true. She’d spoken in the heat of the moment on the day of the charity launch and had regretted it since. She’d seen Corin in all sorts of company – with working-class men in the Boat and with the upper-class people at the Valentine dinner – and he treated everyone with the same easy friendship. And that was the way he treated her too. She hadn’t realised the value of it until she thought she’d thrown it away.
‘But Henry isn’t really the idle rich,’ Corin continued. He rubbed his hand over the banister rail. ‘He isn’t stuck-up or snobby either. Don’t let my clumsy words put you off, if you like him.’
Mim unlocked the caravan and he followed her in.
‘Wait there a minute,’ she said. She went into the bedroom and reached under the bed to pull out a battered old shoe box. The cardboard sides had softened over the years and it was now held together with a couple of elastic bands. She took them off and removed the lid, moving a few items onto the bed while she searched for what she wanted.
‘What’s that?’ Corin was in the doorway, watching her. Mim sighed.
‘I don’t think I invited you into my bedroom,’ she said. She smiled. ‘You don’t own the place yet, son and heir.’
He ignored her and wandered in.
‘I came to see if you needed a hand.’ He gestured at the box. ‘What is all this?’
‘It’s my emergency box.’ She shrugged. ‘I was moved around a lot, sometimes at short notice. It was easier to keep in one box the things I couldn’t be without. I could grab it and go if I needed to.’
‘But you haven’t unpacked it here.’
‘No.’ It was hard to explain. She hadn’t unpacked it at the hotel either, even after ten years – and that had proved to be the right decision, hadn’t it? She’d been evicted from there at short notice too. But she wasn’t giving up hope. ‘Maybe one day I’ll find a home – not just a place to stay – where I feel safe,’ she said, ‘and then I might unpack it. If not, I’ll be needing a new box. This one’s on its last legs, isn’t it?’
Corin stared down at the assortment of items spread across the bed and visible in the box. On the top lay a photo of Mim as a tiny baby with her mum and dad, barely more than children themselves, from a time she couldn’t remember but had always thought must have been the happiest moment of her childhood; it was the only memento of her dad she had. There were her birth and exam certificates, a medal she had won in a maths competition at school, a photo of Gordon behind the bar at the hotel, the pebble containing the ammonite that she had found on the beach, the local newspaper article with the picture of her, Lia, and Corin… She wished she could scoop it all up in her arms and hide it from his gaze, so he couldn’t see how little there was to her life. She picked out a memory stick and the car registration document from the bottom of the box and piled everything else back in, stowing it away again under the bed.
‘If any of these treasures are stolen now, I’ll be pointing my finger at you,’ she said, trying to make a joke of it. He didn’t smile. ‘Don’t be giving me that pity face again. Did no one ever tell you that if the wind changes you might be stuck like that? Imagine the disappointment among the single women of Devon.’
She weasled a smile out of him at that and they returned to the house with the memory stick. Corin brought in a laptop from the study.
‘Here’s the car registration document,’ Mim said, passing it to Yvonne while the computer switched on. ‘The car is in my name. You can’t argue with that.’
Yvonne looked like she might try but Corin whisked the paper out of her hand. Mim opened the contents of the memory stick. It was all here, all the documents relating to the business: accounts, occupancy statistics, bar sales, receipts, all neatly organised and filed away. It wouldn’t have suited everyone, but she had loved doing all this, had savoured the solidity and reliability of working with numbers. You knew where you were with numbers. They didn’t judge or behave differently for different people.
‘Here’s the receipt from the pawn shop,’ she said, bringing up a copy that she had scanned and saved. ‘And just in case you were about to make more accusations, on the next tab you’ll find the bank statement confirming the money was paid into the business account on the same day.’
Corin took the laptop and showed it to Yvonne.
‘You shouldn’t have all this,’ Yvonne said, peering at the screen. ‘This is confidential hotel business.’
‘Okay, I’ll hold up my hands to that one,’ Mim said. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have copied it. But it was my insurance and I was right to think I might need it, wasn’t I?’ She stood in front of Yvonne. Should she say more? Yvonne had treated Mim badly for years, but it was Yvonne’s behaviour towards Gordon that angered Mim most. She had to stand up for him one last time. ‘It’s a bit late to get sentimental about Gordon’s watch. If you’d bothered to visit when he was alive, you would have had real memories to treasure. If I’d had a dad like yours, I’d never have abandoned him like you did. My family would have come before anything. And now I really do think it’s time for you to go.’
‘After you’ve apologised,’ Corin added, removing the laptop from Yvonne’s grasp.
‘I’d sooner cut my tongue out.’
‘Gracious me, I can’t bear this foul-mouthed woman a moment longer.’ Bea stood up and opened her arms wide as if she were herding animals. ‘Come along. Out. Out you go.’
She was magnificent. Without another word, she steered Yvonne out of the room, leaving Mim alone with Corin. Mim retrieved the laptop and closed down the folders she’d opened.
‘Are you okay?’ Corin asked, perching on the arm of the chair beside her. He touched her shoulder – a tentative touch, but it was enough to drive away Mim’s lingering tension.
‘Fine.’ She smiled. ‘I’ve dealt with far worse than Yvonne and lived to tell the tale.’
‘You deserve better.’
‘If life worked like that, and gave people what they deserve, I’d be living in a palace, waited on hand and foot, I expect.’ She laughed. ‘As it doesn’t, I’ll make do with my caravan. As long as Bea lets me stay after today’s mess. She won’t want to risk any repeat of this, will she?’
‘You have to stay.’ He spoke quickly. Mim looked up and caught an odd expression on his face, as if he’d surprised himself with his words. He smiled. ‘For purely selfish reasons. Now I’ve seen what you can do with accounts, I hope you might take pity and help me with mine.’
‘Out of pity?’ Mim grinned. ‘I’ll never make it to my palace on those terms.’
‘I’ll pay you in hard cash and with as much cake and disgustingly milky tea as you like.’
He knew how she liked her tea? It was a little thing but it felt significant, as if a root was winding down into the earth and anchoring her here. She felt she belonged here more than anywhere else she’d stayed and had a real connection to the place and the people. She didn’t want to leave.
‘You’ve got a d
eal,’ she said.
‘This is your filing system?’ Mim asked, when she went round to Corin’s house the next day to look at his accounts. ‘It’s not very impressive, is it?’
‘Don’t be rude. That’s a top quality padded envelope,’ Corin said.
‘It isn’t even a new envelope.’
‘I’m a keen recycler.’
Mim laughed and tipped the contents of the envelope onto Corin’s desk. An assortment of papers fell out: receipts, handwritten notes, printed pages, and one paper napkin with a telephone number on it. Corin grabbed that, screwed it up and dropped it in the wastepaper basket. Mim sifted through the rest.
‘Most of the outgoings are in there,’ Corin said. ‘You’ll have to access the bank statements for the rest and for the income.’
Mim pulled a face.
‘It seems a bit nosy going through your bank statements. Are you sure you want me to? Don’t you have accountants for the business who could do this for you properly?’
‘Don’t worry. You won’t find any embarrassing standing orders in there.’ Corin smiled. ‘And if you’d ever met the family accountants, you’d understand why I’d much rather have you in my house than them. They bore me to sleep with complicated words.’
Mim didn’t object. She was lucky to have a whole caravan to herself, but nothing compared to being in a house with solid walls and a firm roof, as she’d discovered on a few stormy nights when it had felt as if the wind might lift the caravan off its base, or the pounding rain might penetrate the metal above her head. And there was something cosy and comfortable about Corin’s house, even today when the sun streamed in and the windows were wide open, letting in the sea air. It wasn’t as fancy as Vennhallow and was a fraction of the size, but it had everything it needed to make it a home. She could understand why Corin preferred to live here.
While Mim tried to make sense of the accounts, Corin carried out jobs around the house, ironing a pile of sheets and then cooking something that smelled delicious and made Mim’s mouth water.
‘You’re quite the domestic goddess, aren’t you?’ she said, when he brought her another mug of tea and a chocolate brownie.
‘I like to be self-sufficient. I’m making lasagne – is that okay?’
‘Do what you like. You’re not bothering me.’
Corin laughed.
‘I meant, is it okay for you? Do you like it? I should have checked first, I suppose.’
‘You’re making it for me?’
‘Not just for you. I was planning to eat some too. At the same time and in the same place, in case you were going to ask that next. I’m beginning to think doing the accounts is easier than inviting you for dinner.’
‘You know I’m working at the Boat tonight?’
‘I do. The meal will be ready in plenty of time.’
‘Great. I could…’ Mim stopped. She’d been about to say she could get used to this, but luckily her brain had put a brake on her mouth for once. She didn’t want him to think she was making herself too comfortable here, or reading anything into the invitation other than one friend offering to share a meal with another. ‘Can I ask a quick question about the bank statements while you’re loitering here? There are some payments in and out and I can’t tell if they’re to do with the business or not.’
Corin leaned over her shoulder to look at the computer screen while Mim pointed out a couple of the entries she was querying. Each week a huge sum of money – in her eyes – was paid in, and the majority of it was paid out again almost immediately.
‘That’s nothing to do with work.’ Corin straightened up. He scratched the back of his neck. ‘That’s a payment from a trust fund my grandparents set up.’
‘Oh.’ There wasn’t much more Mim could say. She had no experience of trust funds or grandparents. And the sort of figures she was seeing here… She’d known Corin was rich, but this was beyond anything she might have imagined. What was a man with this sort of money doing making tea for her? ‘You must really love wearing jumpers full of holes. You could buy dozens of new ones.’
‘I know how it must look. Further proof that I’m part of the elite, snobby rich. But I meant what I said before, in Beremouth. I may have been born into it, but it’s not what I choose to be.’ Corin studied Mim for a moment and then opened the drawer of the desk. There was a photograph album in it and he opened it on a specific page. ‘This is a school I sponsor in Rwanda. I worked there for a year and it was the most amazing and humbling experience of my life. The children are incredible and so keen to learn. My clothes don’t matter. Their education does. Giving these children a better future matters.’ He found another photograph of a girl aged about ten. Her gorgeous smile filled the picture. ‘This is Benite. She wants to be a doctor and save lives. I’d wear rags if it would help her achieve that.’
The passion in his voice was unmistakable. His gaze was steady on hers, as if he was willing her to look beyond the surface and see who he really was. She broke eye contact, telling herself not to be so fanciful.
‘You give your money away?’ she asked.
‘Most of it. Olly set up a charity for me.’ He smiled and Mim realised why he had been so knowledgeable about setting up the As You Like It charity. Why hadn’t she spotted that before? ‘It’s not really mine, is it?’ Corin continued. ‘I didn’t earn it. I doubt my grandparents would have approved but I can’t think of a better way to spend it.’
He wandered over to the kitchen and Mim stared after him, as if she hadn’t really seen him until now. Forget the accent and the privileged upbringing, the family estate, and the trust fund. They didn’t define him or make him who he was, any more than her past defined her. When all else was stripped away, he was a kind, hardworking man, doing his best to make a difference where he could. How had she, of all people, judged him on the external trappings? Soul to soul, heart to heart, mind to mind, they were more similar than she could have imagined.
By the end of the afternoon, Mim had prepared a basic spreadsheet of his income and outgoings.
‘It should be straightforward now if you keep on top of it,’ she said. ‘You can easily extract the information you need for your tax return when it’s due.’
‘You’re a star.’ Corin crouched next to Mim as he looked at what she had done. ‘This is worth more than a brownie and lasagne.’
‘Don’t forget the cups of tea,’ she said. She shifted in her chair, unsettled by his proximity in a way she had never been before, newly conscious of him on a fundamental level, as a man, not as the son and heir of Vennhallow.
‘It’s worth more than all that.’
‘Don’t go overboard. This is basic stuff. Someone with bookkeeping or accountancy skills could have done a more sophisticated job.’
Corin stood up.
‘Why don’t you get more qualifications? You clearly have a flair for numbers. Or what about hotel management, using your experience?’
‘I’ve tried formal education,’ Mim said, relaxing now that he had moved away. ‘It didn’t go well. I must be a bit thick.’
‘That’s not true. You haven’t had any support before. You have us now. You’re not on your own. Why not think about it?’
Mim did think about it; it was in the back of her mind all through the meal later, despite the interesting stories that Corin told her about his time abroad. Perhaps she wasn’t really thick, but it had been hard to focus on studying when she’d moved from school to school so often and no one had cared whether she did her homework or revised for exams. Why shouldn’t she try again now and see what she could achieve?
The time to leave for the Boat came round too soon.
‘I’m seeing Henry Burrows tomorrow night,’ Corin said, as Mim picked up her bag and reluctantly headed for the door. ‘How did the meeting with him go? Is there anything you need me to follow up?’
‘No, it was great. He showed me round the site and we agreed that the charity guests could have a special pass to use the facilities there.�
� Mim paused in the hallway. ‘He also showed me pictures of his house in France.’
‘Did he?’ Corin’s face was hard to read. ‘I didn’t know he had one. Was it impressive?’
‘Incredible. It was enormous – more like a palace than a house. It even made Vennhallow look small.’
‘A palace?’ Corin held the door open for her. A warm breeze blew in, heady with the tang of the sea air. ‘Exactly where you said you deserve to be. When are you going?’
‘I don’t think I will.’ Henry had misjudged if he’d thought a fancy house would impress her. How many schools could he have sponsored with the money he’d spent buying that place? She looked at Corin. ‘Don’t let it go to your head but you were right. He’s not my type.’
Corin smiled that special smile of his that radiated warmth and was impossible to resist.
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ he said.
Chapter Eighteen
Lia had worked wonders and found sponsors for the remaining four caravans. She’d decided to hand paint name-plates to attach to the veranda of each one, but had refused to let Mim see them until they were finished. Mim was sitting on her caravan steps with a cup of tea one morning when Lia and Bobby entered the field. Bobby was laden down with a tool bag and a stack of name plates.
‘Darling, you look like a beautiful statue sitting there so serenely,’ Lia said, kissing Mim’s cheeks. Mim had grown used to these public displays now, and it no longer felt odd when someone tried to give her a hug or squeezed her hand. It felt normal, and she didn’t think she would ever tire of that; normal was a condition she’d been longing to achieve for years. ‘You must let me paint you soon. I have the most wonderful idea for it.’
‘As long as it’s not a nude picture. I don’t think either of us are ready for that.’ Mim grinned. ‘Are these the name plates? Can I see them at last?’
‘Only if you promise to be kind about them. I had to finish them more quickly than I’d have liked so they’re ready for when the guests arrive.’