The Circle Now Is Made (King's Way Book 1)

by Mac Fletcher

  “You must 'ave read them sort o’ books then?” observed Simon.

  “Just the last couple of pages.” Eddy winked. “I think I'd like San Tropez.”

  Jan and her boyfriend Mick then went and sat on their own, until at almost closing time they called Greg over.

  “Are you still interested in finding work in the holiday trade?” asked Jan.

  Greg replied, honestly, that he'd not given work much thought during the past week. “But I’m prepared to have a crack at almost anything that will bring in money.”

  “Well… it’s a bit up in the air at the moment,” explained Jan, “but Sarah Penmaric told me once that my cabin had been a cafe years ago, and had always done well. She mentioned it again the other day; said they might have to consider selling it with the surrounding land. Lot of it there is.”

  Greg's smile clouded over. “What sort of price would she be asking though?”

  “Never said.” Jan shook her head. “But then she said she’d consider renting it out on a temporary basis.”

  “But isn’t the whole lot ready to fold?”

  “So it might - that’s why I say it’s up in the air. But there’s a chance of getting the coming season out of it.”

  “It would pay a few quid,” suggested Mick. “Better than nothing, and it would keep a roof over Jan’s head - for a while longer at least.”

  Mick's summary suggested that the couple's primary concern was hanging on to the cabin, though Greg hadn’t the heart to dismiss what already seemed a futile venture.

  “It might be worth a crack,” he said, “you’d have nothing to lose, either of you.”

  Mick, pushing sixty despite Jan's reference to him as her boyfriend, shook his head. “That’s the problem. Pay's crap, but I’m in regular employment, so there’s no chance o' me giving it up how things are, and Jan's not ready to move in with me yet. But it would need two to run a cafe, and we thought Jan an’ somebody – p’raps yourself - could have a crack it.”

  Greg felt trapped. His immediate reaction was to save the pair from wasting time by being open, but he was muted by reluctance to hurt their feelings. Play for time, he thought: no harm in looking into it, and anything that might keep me out of the pub deserves consideration. Another benefit that occurred to Greg was that it might gain him access to Penmaric House: he'd been intrigued by the set up there since his arrival.

  “Well,” he conceded without sounding too keen. "What sort of rent might she want?”

  “So you might be interested!” replied Jan to his dismay. “Well, we’d have to go and see Sarah Penmaric to find out.”

  Jan went on to explain that the cabin was large enough for both home and business, and that the original catering equipment was still stored in its cavernous apex.

  “Bit weathered,” she admitted, “but we'd get by with it I’m sure.”

  “I reckon Sarah Penmaric’s clutchin' at straws,” added Mick. “Desperate to grab some cash any way she can.”

  Greg forced a smile through clenched teeth, though decided there was little to lose, whatever the outcome.

  ***

  Greg didn’t go out that night for the first time since his arrival, deciding instead to stay and keep Red company. It was a typical Saturday evening in that there was little on television, so he turned it off and pondered whether Jan’s proposal might be worthy of consideration. Although he’d stayed in, Greg wasn’t without the comfort of a spirit bottle, so he poured himself a large drink and sat back, deep in thought.

  How, he asked himself, could anyone hope to make a decent living from cream teas and soft drinks in such a sparsely populated area? How would people even know a cafe existed in a remote village like Trevelly – let alone patronise it? Where was the cabin? Jan had given him directions, and he'd reluctantly arranged to call late the following afternoon.

  Soon find out, he decided as he reached for his drink.

  After two or three large glasses, Greg had taken a complete reappraisal of the situation: visions of a holiday empire loomed before him, with Mick and Jan as well-paid staff, and the lads from the pub in his employ. Greg had a vivid imagination, especially after a few vodkas, and he settled back with a book and a cigar as icy rain began pounding the caravan roof...

  The following morning he rose at ten thirty on the dot with the now customary headache, and followed his usual routine. The headache had become so commonplace Greg now accepted it as a necessary evil. It soon went away after his first hot drink... liberally laced of course.

  He didn't drink much that lunchtime though, intent on remaining alert for his appointment with Jan. She'd suggested that the cabin would be easier to find on foot the first time, and a brisk walk across farmland had appealed whilst the beer had been talking. It had continued to rain heavily throughout the night, however, so after exercising Red he set out in the Frontera instead. It was the first time he'd actually seen the village – picturesque by any standards - though as he rounded a hilltop ringed as a landmark, he gasped in amazement. It was almost dark, but a rising moon bathed the area, and there in front of him was the sea!

  Greg couldn’t believe he’d spent a week within throwing distance of the coastline and hadn’t realised it. He’d thought it miles away. He followed the lane – more of a track - that Jan had drawn, down to where the cabin was. Towards the end, through a break in the hedge, Greg saw the cabin for the first time. A raised wooden building, away up on the hillside, nestling below a densely wooded area. A real log cabin, not the prefabricated chalet he’d imagined!

  It was cold but the moon was bright, so Greg parked up and climbed out to survey the area around it… He couldn’t believe his eyes. Grey, desolate, bleak, uncared for – yet a magnificent sight nevertheless. Not magnificent in the way one might imagine a building rising tower-like from a barren outcrop, but majestic in its rustic simplicity. Circles of light from the moon and the porch lamp hung eerily in the sterile air, lending it an almost ghostly appeal. It was set to the rear of an open area of hillside, which gave way to the most sheltered bay Greg had ever seen.

  He simply couldn’t believe it. The building was flanked by around three acres in roughly equal proportions to either side, though at a lower level. Behind, almost immediately behind, was thickly wooded, and behind that, guessed Greg, must be Penmaric House.

  Years ago, long before Greg had married or started in business, he'd taken a caravan holiday in a similar area with a girl he’d been serious about. The experience had proved so stimulating that Greg and the girl resolved to own a similar business when they eventually married. Shortly after the holiday they'd fallen out, and like most flights of fancy the dream had faded. As Greg walked up the shale track to the cabin, he wondered how things might have panned out if he’d actually married the girl.

  Only one thing's for sure - I'll never know now.

  Greg climbed the pine steps leading up to the raised base on which the cabin stood, whereupon Jan, who'd obviously been looking for him, opened a side door and beckoned him in, a finger to her lips.

  “Jamie's fast off; sit down for a minute,” she said with a grin, and directed him to a table, laid for one, in the kitchen.

  “Expecting guests already?” Greg smiled as he sat.

  “Yes,” replied Jan as she took a covered plate from the oven, “you!”

  “What’s this?” asked an amazed Greg as Jan uncovered a huge meal.

  “Food,” was the simple answer. “Does you good now and again, and I don’t suppose you’ve had a proper meal in days. Tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee, please,” said Greg as he stared at the meal; there was no way he could pretend it wasn’t welcome.

  Jan looked on smilingly as Greg cleared the plate, then the pair sat drinking coffee for a few minutes before she showed him round.

  “Not in the best of repair I’m afraid,” she whispered as she led him from the kitchen to a hallway that ran the length of the building. The interior was dilapidated, and only sparsely furnished, bu
t although the only form of heating was a bottled-gas heater in the lounge, the building felt comfortable. Greg commented that, despite the elevation and outside temperature, none of the rooms felt cold. This, he concluded, was due to the cabin’s solid wooden construction.

  “Jan it’s great!” exclaimed Greg. “A real log cabin - dog rough but great!”

  Apart from a few rugs, the floor was covered in cracked lino, and rendered interior walls hadn't been painted for years. Jan had made a few basic attempts at decoration, but the cabin otherwise bore an air of jaded, unlived in neglect.

  “And you say she's considered selling?” asked Greg, momentarily forgetting his circumstances: a few months earlier he could have bought the cabin almost on a whim. Back then though, he reflected, he wouldn’t have found enough enthusiasm to consider its potential, so locked had he been in an entirely different world. Jan, observing his vacant stare, brought him quickly back to earth.

  “Wishful thinking. Come on, I’ll show you the rest.”

  The layout was simple. The hallway led to each of the rooms in turn, the rearmost section being subdivided into two bedrooms and a bathroom, serviced by a narrow passage across the width. In front of the sleeping area was a spacious lounge, and sandwiched between that and the café, which overlooked the sea, was a large kitchen.

  “All the catering equipment's in the attic there,” explained Jan. “Everything was stripped out for some reason - except the range, of course: too big to hump up there.” She pointed eagerly at the ceiling. “Now, come and see the dining area.”

  The cafe itself, devoid of furniture except for the original counter, looked immense. Greg peered through French windows onto the bay and the cold, steely sea beyond. Jan, grinning at Greg’s amazement, unlocked the French-windows and led him out onto a large patio, partially cantilevered in heavy timber to extend its area.

  “There must have been benches and tables out here,” deduced Greg as he surveyed the remains of rusted bolts set into the concrete dais.

  "S'right Sherlock. What you reckon?”

  “Jan, it's great! But why haven’t they made use of it themselves?”

  “Can’t even guess: no imagination, I reckon. Bay gets packed in summer - from Easter on, in fact. It’s divided by rocks into coves all along; perfect suntraps. And apart from the Holly Tree, there’s nowhere in miles you can get so much as a cup of tea. There’s a restaurant in Trevelly, but it's pricey for casual campers and sunbathers.”

  “Mmm, probably closes for lunch anyway,” said Greg derisively. “People have free access to the bay, then?”

  “Oh yes; the estate has an isolated bay of its own, and only runs to the edge of this field. The lane you came down is a public road to the beach. Honestly Greg, this place could pay a good living.”

  “I’m sure it could.” Greg nodded his agreement. “It’s a pity everything's so uncertain.”

  “I know - I couldn’t take it all in when I first came here; it hadn’t been lived in -much less used commercially - for years. Wicked shame, I reckon.”

  “What sort of work were you doing for Penmaric?” asked Greg.

  “Secretarial - looked after his paperwork. Lovely job, and I could do the bulk of it here and look after Jamie at the same time. Pay wasn’t fantastic, but this place came rent free.”

  “Who’s running things now?”

  “Well, Sarah tried, but she's had so little cooperation from Nigel she’s put it under temporary management. She’s promised me my job if things are resolved, but it’s a big ‘if’. I’m still doing enough hours to cover the rent, but the new manager has his own secretary.”

  “Couldn’t you work for him?”

  “Not considered it really, but it wouldn’t be any more permanent than having a go at this place.”

  Greg nodded. “You’re right - and for a little more effort this place could pay far better dividends.”

  “What do you reckon then, should we go and see her?”

  Greg realised he’d been caught off guard again, though this time by his own enthusiasm. While he'd nothing to lose, there were things he wanted to be sure of before meeting Sarah Penmaric. “You said she mentioned selling the place originally?” he asked. “Do you think that might still be on the cards?”

  “Well.” Jan seemed hesitant. “Perhaps I’d better explain the situation, to save an awkward situation later.” She then went on to explain that Sarah had originally made the offer of sale to Mick and Jan as a joint one.

  "She hedged round a ridiculously low figure because, to my mind, a quick sale would solve several problems. Wooden buildings aren't always easy to sell because of the mortgage aspect, so the price would have to reflect that. She didn’t say as much, but the sale would have brought some immediate cash in to pay off debts,” explained Jan. “This land and the cabin are a drop in the ocean compared to the estate as a whole, so it wouldn’t exactly be missed. Secondly, I sympathise with Sarah because I think she's going to feel awkward about evicting Jamie and myself when the time comes. Selling us the property would have saved her that headache too.”

  “What stopped you buying it?”

  "Two things: as Mick told you the other night, I don't really want to commit to him at this stage. But even if I did, he wouldn't hear of taking on any sort of loan: said he was too long in the tooth for that sort of responsibility.”

  “But for the sort of price you'd have paid for this, a loan would have been no more than rent will cost you eventually - wherever you live.”

  Jan shook her head. “We’ve covered all that ground times over, but it's deadlock. He won’t have it.”

  “That aside for a while,” said Greg, “do you think they might still be willing to sell?”

  “I'm sure they'll have to in time,” answered Jan. “Biggest problem is that if they're forced to sell the whole estate, this will almost certainly be included.”

  “That would be criminal!” Greg gasped. “Do you think - if we could convince them it's a viable proposition - one of the local banks would be willing to put the money up? Do you deal with a bank or building society in the area? Loans aren’t easy these days I know - but for a sound business proposition...”

  “Steady on!” Jan smiled nervously and held up her hands. "I don’t have the kind of money that attracts financiers. The only manager I know is Weaver down at Low-Shires: my parents dealt with him for a good many years.”

  “Sorry, I was running before we’ve even started walking,” said Greg. “Best take things a step at a time.”

  After she’d checked on Jamie, Jan opened an outsized loft hatch in the passageway and lowered some steps.

  "Good God!" mouthed Greg as he switched on the light and surveyed the area. Laid out on a boarded area was a selection of Calor-fired commercial equipment - even a sophisticated Italian coffee machine.

  “Bit tatty...” started Jan almost in a whisper.

  “Tatty?” responded Greg in dismay. “It’s superb. I know it’s mucky; doesn't look its best up here, but it’s all stainless steel. Someone must have planned renovating the kitchen-diner area as they lugged it up here to make space. Come on, time to go and see the lady of the manor."

  "Okay." Jan put on her coat and grabbed a remote intercom from a hall table. "I can't stay long in case Jamie wakes up."

  Jan led Greg a short distance through the trees to Penmaric House. If Greg had been amazed at the cabin, he was astounded by the house. It was the grandiose structure with turrets and spires, rising through the pines with fairy-tale grandeur.

  “It’s a bloody castle!” Greg almost croaked with dismay. “Nothing like the four-square country house I’d imagined.”

  “Yes, it’s lovely isn’t it? Like a chateau - or so I’m told! I’d seen the tops of the spires from the road years ago, but never imagined I’d work here.”

  “I'd think the pair of 'em could live grandly from the proceeds of the sale. Why don’t they just put it on the market and be done?”

  “Looks as if they�
�ll have to.” Jan shrugged hopelessly. “Though I’m sure Sarah doesn’t want to leave; she’s very sweet, but she adores being lady of the manor.” Jan considered for a moment before adding: “Whatever else she might or might not be though, I’m certain she has a high regard for this place… and the welfare of the workers.”

  “Are there no dependants beside Nigel and Sarah?” asked Greg.

  “No. Lawson Penmaric had never been married before. I’m sure his idea towards the end was to leave an heir to continue with the estate. Although he’d always looked on Nigel as a son, he'd come to realise his faith had been misplaced.”

  “So Penmaric wasn't as indifferent toward his employees as Nigel is?”

  “Goodness no! Say what people might, Penmaric did his damndest to protect his staff. In spite of that though, if and when the estate is sold off we’ll be left without homes - Jamie and me sooner than anyone if nothing comes of this lot. Whoever takes over will no doubt find a way of paying off the workers with a few hundred for a lifetime’s loyalty.”

  Greg stopped walking so he could ask another question before they reached the house. “You know a lot about this setup don’t you? Do you think Penmaric has left anything of value?”

  “I don't honestly know. Although I handled the paperwork, I couldn't - wouldn't - divulge financial details anyway, Greg.”

  Greg shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t want you to - I respect loyalty.”

  “All I can say - as most folks know anyway,” continued Jan, "is that the estate nearly folded some years ago. Penmaric somehow pulled it out of the fire at the eleventh hour and it's bumped along since. But I always got the impression he had something up his sleeve.”

  Greg nodded, and increased his pace as they neared the house; he was anxious to meet Sarah.

  The door was answered by a domestic.