by Liz Eeles
‘I’m absolutely fine, thank you, Belinda. There’s no need to worry about me.’ Liam gave her one of his sunniest smiles. The one that used to make Deanna’s heart miss a beat, or so she’d led him to believe.
‘If you’re sure. Isn’t Tom helping you out today?’
‘He’s busy on the farm. There’s a lot to do and we’re rather behind.’
‘Then I’d better leave you to get on with things because the hordes are about to descend.’
She wandered off to harangue some other stall holder, much to Liam’s relief. He was going to be busy without Tom to give him a hand, but at least that meant none of the locals could linger for a sympathetic chat and head tilt.
Two hours later, Liam was desperate for a coffee. A rich, aromatic scent was wafting through the market from the coffee stall near the quay and driving him crazy. But there was no way he could abandon his stall when so many people were milling around. He couldn’t afford to lose any sales.
‘I’d better buy you out of carrots to thank you for your help at Driftwood House.’
When he looked up, Rosie was standing there in jeans and a baggy jumper, even though the sun was high in the sky and he’d stripped down to his T-shirt an hour ago. She looked tired because she’d been working all hours on the house for almost four weeks now, and the Eppings were due to visit the day after tomorrow and give their verdict.
Liam had continued to help her out when he could, and the hours spent together had made him value her company all the more. She was peaceful to be around and, painting barefoot and fresh-faced in her jeans, much less high maintenance than most women he knew. He’d even told her a little more about his relationship with Dee, and she’d confided in him how out of place she’d often felt in Heaven’s Cove, which made him sad. His heart still felt unsteady at times, when she gave him her slow smile or giggled, but he’d given himself a good talking to and had got a grip. They were simply friends.
Behind Rosie, tourists were milling about and several were getting out their purses. Today was going to be a bumper day for selling produce, which was great, but he needed a break. When she smiled again, he started untying the canvas apron he was wearing.
‘You could buy carrots or you could do me a favour and watch the stall for five minutes while I get a coffee. What do you reckon?’
‘OK.’ She looked taken aback, but pleased, as she pushed her sunglasses further into her hair. ‘What do I need to do?’
‘It’s pretty simple. Here are the scales, the prices are displayed, and the cash box is here. Thanks. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
There was a huddle of people around the stall when he hurried back, ten minutes later, revived with coffee. He would have been back sooner but the market was buzzing, and moving quickly through the crowds was impossible. Hopefully, Rosie hadn’t been overwhelmed. She seemed to be doing just fine.
He paused by the organic herbs stall and watched while she shovelled parsnips into a brown paper bag and gave a tourist his change. She’d put on the apron and twisted her hair into a ponytail. Having her hair up suited her, and she looked relaxed and happy as she chatted with customers.
She spotted him as he weaved his way back to the stall and raised her hand to give him a wave.
‘Thank you, and sorry that was a long five minutes. The queue for the coffee stall was mad. Here, I got you a drink to show my appreciation.’
‘Thanks. It’s quietened down a bit now but it’s been really busy. You need two of you on here, really.’
‘Tom usually lends me a hand on market day but we’re flat out on the farm at the moment.’
Rosie sipped from her cardboard cup and squinted at him through the steam. ‘You’re flat out because you’ve been taking time out to help me. Let me return the favour and give you a hand for a change.’
Liam hesitated. ‘You don’t have to. I’ve been happy to help at the house.’
‘And I’m happy to help you, too. I’ve got tomorrow to give Driftwood its final touches before the Eppings descend, and it’ll be nice to see a few people, to be honest. It gets a bit lonely up there on my own.’
Liam nodded because he knew all about being lonely. ‘How’s the search for J going?’
Rosie’s smile faltered. ‘I’ve done a bit more discreet digging and have eliminated a few men from the list. They’re either too young, too old, or only moved to Heaven’s Cove recently. The rest don’t look that promising, to be honest, but I don’t have time to pursue it.’
‘I’ve made a couple of discreet enquiries myself, but couldn’t Matt give you a hand? He could do a bit of searching online.’
‘He’s quite supportive when we talk on the phone but he’s too busy to spend time sorting out my business.’
Matt was a self-centred idiot, thought Liam, trying to keep his expression neutral. If Deanna had been so upset and in need of help, he’d have given it. He’d also have moved heaven and earth to be with her, rather than whining from a thousand miles away.
‘Anyway.’ Rosie smiled. ‘Would you like me to stay and help for a while?’
She’d already started pushing purple sprouting broccoli into a bag for a new customer so it seemed churlish to turn down her offer.
Liam nodded. ‘That would be helpful. Thanks.’
At first it was awkward, having Rosie with him behind the stall. There wasn’t much room and they performed a peculiar dance to avoid bumping into each other. But after a while she seemed to relax – he supposed he did too – and the occasional arm brush as they served customers went unremarked.
When the sun climbed in the sky, it grew warmer and even Rosie ditched her jumper as the stream of shoppers continued.
‘Phew, it’s quite full-on, isn’t it?’ remarked Rosie during a brief lull.
‘It’s not always this manic. The good weather has brought everyone out, so it’s fortunate you’re here to help.’
‘It’s good for me, too, to think about something else for a while.’
‘Something other than the house and your mum.’
‘Yeah, and my dad. The man I’ve always thought of as my dad. I’ve been thinking a lot about him these past few days. I wish I’d known the truth so I could have thanked him for kind of adopting me. After he cheated on my mum and left us, I was furious and not very nice to him for ages, but he didn’t let on even then that I wasn’t his.’
When Rosie pushed hair from her eyes, Liam noticed dark shadows along the underside of her arm.
‘What’s that?’
He caught her hand and turned her arm over. Ugly purple bruises were blooming from her inner elbow almost to her shoulder.
‘It’s nothing.’ She tried to snatch her hand away but Liam held on tight. ‘I fell off the ladder yesterday while I was painting the coving in the hall.’
‘Hell, Rosie, you’ve got to be careful. I bet that hurt.’
‘It’s fine, though it smarted a bit.’
She was trying to sound upbeat but her voice caught and something twisted in Liam’s heart. Rosie stared at his hand while he traced his fingers gently across her soft, bruised skin. And when she lifted her eyes to his face, Liam glimpsed a vulnerability he hadn’t seen before. The hubbub of the market, the wash of the waves and the screech of seagulls faded away as his fingers rested on her skin.
‘I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.’
Liam dropped his hand to find Katrina staring at him with one perfectly arched eyebrow raised. She picked up a cabbage and held it out, across the stall. ‘These look lovely, Liam. I’ll have some of the spinach as well. I’m into smoothies right now. They do wonders for my complexion. Talking of which, look at your freckles, Rosie! You really need to keep slathering on the sun cream or you’ll have skin like leather by the time you’re forty.’
Liam knew he was often oblivious to subtext. He’d never really bothered with it in the past. He was an upfront, in your face kind of person. But only an idiot would be unaware that Katrina was being unkind, and Rosie wa
s certainly aware of the weight behind her words.
When she pulled down her ponytail and let her hair swing in front of her face, annoyance lodged in Liam’s chest. Katrina was absolutely beautiful, well-off – thanks to her divorce settlement – and clearly had the hots for him, if her flirting was anything to go by. But she could be bitchy at times.
‘I’d better get going,’ said Rosie, taking off her apron and folding it before passing it back.
‘Are you short-handed, Liam?’ Katrina leant across the vegetables in her low-cut top. ‘No worries ’cos I’ll help you out for a while.’
‘Thanks but there’s no need. It’s not so busy now.’
‘Nonsense. It’s no trouble at all, and I’ve been so tied up with work, I haven’t seen you properly for ages.’
Crikey, she was keen. Before Rosie had managed to slip out from behind the stall, Katrina had shimmied into the small space and she pressed against him while Rosie squeezed past. There were lots of men around Heaven’s Cove who would welcome Katrina pressing her pneumatic body against them, and Liam was surprised that all he felt was vague irritation.
‘Rosie!’ Belinda’s panicked voice cut across the market hubbub. ‘Rosie, where are you?’
‘She’s here,’ called Liam, waving his arm in the air to attract Belinda’s attention. She pushed her way through the crowds and stood, panting, in front of them. ‘What on earth’s the matter?’
‘Guess who I just saw driving along the High Street?’ she puffed, before pausing expectantly. Were they expected to guess?
‘Lady Gaga?’ said Katrina, sounding bored.
‘Lady who?’
‘Gaga, she’s a singer and… oh, never mind.’ Katrina sat down heavily on the stool behind the cash box.
‘It was Charles and Cecilia Epping,’ declared Belinda. ‘In a big car, driving through Heaven’s Cove as clear as day, though I swear that man hasn’t set foot in the village for a decade. Oh, dear. I should have jumped in front of them with my sash on. They might have contributed to the village hall fund, though I doubt it.’
‘Which way were they heading?’ asked Rosie.
‘Towards Driftwood House, of course. That’s why I had to tell you. I think Charles and Cecilia Epping are on their way to your house… their house… your house.’
‘But they can’t. They’re not supposed to visit until Friday.’
Belinda held her palms up to the china-blue sky. ‘What did I tell you? The Eppings are a law unto themselves.’
Without another word, Rosie turned and started weaving her way through the crowds.
‘Do you want me to come with you? I don’t mind,’ yelled Belinda, but Rosie was already gone.
Katrina got to her feet and peered after Rosie. ‘Why is she in such a panic? And what did she mean, that the house isn’t ready for them yet? Tell me, Liam.’
But Liam was too busy thinking to answer, even though Katrina gave him her prettiest pout and blinked her big grey eyes at him.
‘Haven’t you heard?’ said Belinda. ‘Rosie is trying to persuade the Eppings to turn Driftwood House into a guesthouse.’
‘A guesthouse? Is that why there’s paint in her hair? And how the hell does someone like Rosie know Charles and Cecilia Epping anyway?’
The two women bent their heads together and carried on gossiping as Liam ran the apron that Rosie had just given him through his fingers. Belinda was right about the Eppings doing what they wanted, when they wanted. They wouldn’t care how much work Rosie had put into the house. As he’d warned her, she’d made a deal with the devil.
CHAPTER 19
Rosie pushed her way through the throng of people, inwardly groaning at the tourists for descending on Heaven’s Cove on today of all days. The day that Charles and Cecilia Epping decided to pay an early visit to Driftwood House before Driftwood House was properly ready. Cecilia would never agree to the guesthouse plan now.
Rosie rushed on, past Colin’s fish stall where she’d planned to buy a shiny silver mackerel for her tea. Fish was good for the skin, wasn’t it? She mentally kicked herself for being stung by Katrina’s comment, which had taken her back to their school days.
And what was that moment when Liam stroked her arm? Even though they’d grown closer over the last few weeks, his kindness and concern were disorientating. Nessa’s admonition at Sorrell Head suddenly sounded in her head: You’re judging us all on how we used to be before you ran off to Spain. Nessa was right – they’d all changed, and maybe Liam even liked her as more than a friend these days.
Rosie hurdled an empty box left behind one of the stalls and berated herself for being an idiot. Liam would hardly be interested in her when Katrina was around. However much he might or might not have changed, she was surely much more his type – bold, poised, beautiful, and living just up the road rather than a thousand miles away.
With random thoughts still pinging around her brain, Rosie raced on, along the High Street to the end of the village. Maybe Belinda got the wrong end of the stick, she told herself as she puffed up the cliff. It probably wasn’t the Eppings she saw at all.
But when she got higher, there was a silver Range Rover in the distance, parked outside Driftwood House, and two figures standing near the edge of the cliff.
They didn’t turn when she reached the house so she let herself in and threw her jumper into the under stairs cupboard. Clearing up the kitchen took only a few minutes thanks to the dishwasher, and the sitting room, with its newly painted walls, was tidy. The cream curtains were freshly laundered, a vase of wild flowers she’d picked that morning was on the window sill, and the room smelled of polish.
The faded rug still needed a good vacuum and the wide, cream skirting boards needed washing down. They were on Rosie’s to-do list, along with other last-minute tweaks to the house. But the Eppings’ premature arrival meant things would just have to do.
Rosie glanced out of the window. The Eppings had seen enough of the sea and were walking back towards the house, Cecilia taking two steps for every one of her husband’s loping strides. With a last look around the sunny room, Rosie went outside and stood on the grass.
It was rather like waiting for a royal visit, Rosie decided, as the couple got closer – Cecilia in black trousers with a beige silk blouse, and Charles wearing a navy linen jacket with a thin, blue scarf around his neck. She shivered, although the sun was warm on her shoulders, and resisted a sudden urge to curtsey when they reached her.
‘Hello, Miss Merchant. You’re home, I see,’ said Cecilia, pursing her lips. ‘We knocked on the door but there was no reply.’
‘I was in the village. I wasn’t expecting you until Friday.’
‘We were out for a drive nearby and a diversion here made sense. It will save us making another trip later in the week.’ She glanced at Charles, who was shielding his eyes with his hand and staring up at the roof. ‘So,’ she said briskly, ‘I get to see infamous Driftwood House at last.’
‘Haven’t you seen it before?’
‘Only from a distance. I’ve never wanted to brave that bone-rattling track before.’
‘It is a bit pot-holed but I’m sure it could be improved quite easily,’ said Rosie, biting down annoyance that Cecilia appeared to have condemned her family home without ever properly seeing it.
‘Perhaps.’ She inspected her polished nails. ‘Can you show us around? We need to get to another appointment and only have ten minutes to spare.’
Just ten minutes to save Driftwood House from the wrecking ball. Neither combative Cecilia nor her silent husband were going to make this easy.
‘I didn’t have very long to make changes so they’re only cosmetic but I hope you can still see Driftwood House’s potential as a guesthouse.’
‘You’ve had long enough, I’m sure. Come on,’ barked Cecilia to her husband, who was staring at the house with a faraway expression. He wasn’t even concentrating, thought Rosie with a pang of disappointment. Maybe Liam was right and she had made a deal with
the devil – but she wasn’t about to give up on the house without a fight.
‘As you can see, the house is solid and attractive with many original features that are local to Devon. And its weathered appearance only adds to its appeal.’ That last bit was pushing it, but Driftwood House had far more character than some brand new hotel. ‘Why don’t you come inside?’
Cecilia’s intake of breath when the front door slammed behind them in the breeze wasn’t the best of starts. And ‘quite small’ was her only comment when Rosie showed her the sitting room and pointed out its fabulous view of the sea and how cosy it would be for guests in winter, with its thick walls and the log burner blazing.
In the kitchen, she wrinkled her nose when Rosie talked about how spacious the room was, and she seemed wholly unimpressed with the vast original sink and the black Aga that, fortunately, Rosie had polished yesterday until it shone.
While Cecilia paced around the kitchen, rapping on the worktops as though they might break, Charles ran his hand across the large oak table. ‘Did your mother do a lot of cooking in here?’ They were the first words he’d spoken since entering the house.
‘Mum didn’t much enjoy day-to-day cooking. She found it boring, but she loved making cakes. Her speciality was a triple-layer Victoria sponge with fresh cream and strawberries on the top. She always made one for my birthday when I was growing up.’
Too much information. Rosie stopped speaking, acutely aware that no one cared.
But Charles smiled. ‘Sofia always did have a sweet tooth, or so Evelyn told us.’
‘We don’t have time to chat. Let’s get on,’ snapped Cecilia, giving the kitchen garden a cursory glance through the window before marching into the hall and up the stairs, followed by Charles.
Damn, Rosie hadn’t checked the bedrooms. The duvet on her bed was turned back, and yesterday’s knickers were very possibly on the bathroom floor. She took the stairs two at a time, while Cecilia, on the landing, communicated her impatience by tapping her long fingernails on the bannister rail.