by Jenny Kane
‘So if I said let’s go for a sit on the sand after we’ve finished, the answer would be…?’
‘A very loud and clear “no thank you”.’
‘A walk over the cliffs?’
‘More tempting, but only on a sunny day and with the offer of a cup of coffee, or maybe a gin and tonic, at the other end.’
Abi’s good humour returned. ‘Now you’re talking. How about a trip to the outdoor theatre near Penzance sometime?’
Cassandra’s smile met her eyes for the first time since Abi had called at her front door. ‘The theatre, I love. Even if it’s only regional. Did you go much when you lived in London?’
Deciding to ignore the gibe, Abi swallowed hard. She had been hoping to avoid talking about her life in London, but now Cassandra had begun to soften, albeit only a little bit, she didn’t want to ruin it. It was beginning to appear as if Sennen was to Cassandra what London was to Abi.
‘I did, yes, I was very lucky. I was taken to visit the West End at least once a month.’
‘You don’t miss it? The West End musicals, the plays, all the restaurants, wine bars, the department stores so nearby, all the museums, the sheer convenience of everything?’
‘Not at all,’ Abi pointed to the seascape, ‘but I’d miss that if I went back. You can see a Debenhams anywhere, but that view…it’s only here.’
Cassandra nodded. ‘I understand that. It isn’t my thing, but I totally get it.’
Abi fished the keys to Art and Sole from her jeans pocket. ‘Well, let’s see if I can’t persuade you that there is one good thing about the village. Come inside my arty world.’
Cassandra felt shame flush her cheeks. ‘Oh God, I am so bad at this.’ She hung back from walking into the gallery. ‘I’m not making excuses for seeming all dismissive of this place, Abi, but I’ve had an awful few days, and well…let’s just say if the streets of Sennen were paved with gold then you would still have a hard time selling it to me right now. I’m not anti-Cornwall, I promise – I’m just not at home.’
Breathing an invisible sigh of relief, Abi realised her hands had begun to tremble like they used to when she anticipated her late husband’s displeasure. She was about to explain how the gallery worked, when Cassandra got in first.
‘Oh, this is wonderful! You work here?’
‘Yes. There, in fact.’ Abi pointed to her chair by the easel and work station on the studio side of the room, before turning on the lights and pulling down the blinds so that they could take down the display without being watched by strolling tourists and curious locals.
‘You’re an artist?’
‘I’m a children’s book illustrator. I could work anywhere, but when I moved down here I had the good fortune to meet Max, and then his best friend, Beth. She inherited this place from her grandfather. It was his cobbler’s shop until she converted it last year.’
‘Hence “Art and Sole”, as in shoes?’
‘Exactly. Beth and her partner live upstairs.’
Cassandra drifted over to the quilts. ‘These are exquisite. Do they really have to come down?’
Pleased that at least her taste in textiles met with her new neighbour’s approval, Abi said, ‘I’m afraid so. Each exhibitor rents the space for a month. As you can see from the red stickers by so many of them, they did well with sales.’
Cassandra ran a finger over one of the red spots next to the rectangular card of notes the artists had placed next to each quilt, which explained its source of inspiration and title. ‘It’s like a real gallery.’
Abi winced. ‘Excuse me? I think you’ll find this is a real gallery.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘I’m sorry you’re stuck in a place you don’t want to be, Cassandra, I know how that feels, and it’s horrible, but we aren’t keeping you here. You don’t come across as if you’re exactly poverty-stricken. I’m sure that if you genuinely wanted to leave you could up sticks and flee to the nearest place that suits you. So why don’t you?’
Cassandra opened her mouth to fire back that that was precisely what she wanted to do, but her usual self-righteousness had deserted her. One glimpse at Abi’s offended face robbed her of all her indignation. Crashing onto the viewing sofa in the middle of the room, she burst into a new round of tears.
She couldn’t believe what was happening. Not even Justin had seen her cry. Not once. She was Cassandra Henley-Pinkerton and she did not cry. She was always in control. Always. She was secure in her looks, her abilities, and her intelligence.
Or she had been.
Justin had stolen all of that.
Abi only watched her visitor for a second before her generous heart got the better of her. Picking up the box of tissues she normally used for dabbing at stray runs of paint, she passed them to Cassandra.
Speaking far more calmly than she felt, Abi said, ‘You’ve insulted my home and my gallery. You might as well tell me why. If we’re going to be neighbours, even if only for a while, it’ll make life a lot easier if I understand why you’re being such a bitch.’
Cassandra turned to her host. ‘Why haven’t you just thrown me out?’
‘Because I suffer from chronic niceness. It’s a real pain in the arse, but totally incurable.’
The Londoner shook her head in disbelief. ‘As you’ve probably worked out, I suffer from no such ailment. Perhaps it would be better if I did.’
Abi got up again and fetched the emergency bottle of wine she and Beth kept in the small fridge beneath the counter, along with two glasses. ‘So, talk to me.’
Feeling so far out of her emotional depth that she wasn’t sure where to start, Cassandra gulped and began to tell her story. How she’d met Justin, about their affair, how she had given him joint legal power over her business, and how they’d started to plan a future together. Then she told Abi why they’d got the house in Cornwall, and how she was only supposed to be there to do the place up while he secured his promotion and told his wife he wanted a divorce.
‘At least, that’s why I thought I was here.’
‘Ah. And you are really here because?’
‘It appears I’ve been sent here so that Justin could steal my business from under me while I wasn’t looking, ruining my life, career, and reputation all in one go.’ Cassandra took a large mouthful of wine before adding, ‘And yet, I can’t quite accept it.’
‘Or you don’t want to believe it?’
Cassandra rubbed a hand over her temples. ‘Only a few days ago he was talking about marriage. Justin can be a money-grabbing toad sometimes, and he is very materialistic, but this…it doesn’t seem in character, somehow. It’s too cowardly for him.’
‘You think if he wanted to break up with you he’d say so, rather than dragging things out?’
‘Exactly. I also think if he wanted me to sell my business he’d tell me. He’s the biggest shareholder, he’d do very well out of it without having to risk stealing from me. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘What does Justin have to say about this?’
‘He isn’t answering my calls or replying to my texts. Apparently he’s in the US.’
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
‘I’m not. His PA, Crystal, would do anything to protect him.’
‘You think she fancies him?’
‘She always has.’
Abi took another gulp of her wine before brushing her hands decisively down her jeans and approaching the first quilt. ‘I may regret this. But it’s possible I know someone who could help, or at least someone who would know the right person to discover if Justin is still in London or not.’
‘You do?’
‘Less disbelief and more gratitude would be good here, Cassandra.’
‘Sorry.’ Appearing as contrite as she sounded, Cassandra got up and helped support the first quilt as Abi took it off its wall fixings. ‘Ever since I got to Cornwall I’ve been a bit…I don’t know how to describe it.’
‘Unpleasant?’
‘Um, yes… although I meant overwhe
lmed. It’s so friendly, everyone listens, and no one seems in competition with anyone else. It’s taking a bit of getting used to.’
‘Yes, I can see that. But if you want us to help you, you’re going to have to unbend a bit. Be pleasant. I’m sure you can do that!’ Abi softened a little. ‘When you don’t go all city slicker, you seem quite nice!’
Feeling thoroughly told off, Cassandra said meekly, ‘I’ll try.’
***
By the time all the quilts were down, secured in their protective bubble-wrap jackets, and those that had been sold were double wrapped in attractive tissue paper ready for the new owners to collect, Abi had explained to Cassandra all about Luke, her life working in London, and her quest to find Abbey’s House, as well as peace and quiet, in Cornwall.
‘I was so lucky that Stan was the owner. I’m sure no one else would have let me and Max cross the threshold in the first place.’
Cassandra smoothed a hand over the final quilt. ‘That was fun. Thanks for asking me to help.’
Abi looked at her. ‘Did you really enjoy doing that?’
‘Yes, I did. I’m quite surprised at myself to be honest. I had loads of fun at that shop in Truro as well.’
‘I think we may have more in common than we think we do.’ Abi smiled. ‘Would you like me to see if I can make some enquiries in London, then?’
‘Do you truly know people who could help?’
‘I’m not sure, but I know people who are well connected with the money side of things in the City. I don’t like them, but I know them.’
‘Who?’
‘My former brother-in-law for one.’ Abi trembled as she thought about Simon Carter, the man who had tried to convince her to marry him directly after his brother’s death just so Luke’s money could be kept in the family. ‘I can’t stand the man, though, and Max hates him.’
‘Why would you do that for me?’
‘Because I think you are a much better person than you pretend to be.’
Cassandra stood and stared at Abi. She had absolutely no idea what to say.
‘But for goodness’ sake don’t tell Max, he’d go mad if he thought I’d called Simon. And while you’re at it, phone Jo in Truro. Her reputation is excellent. Book some lessons in furniture restoration. If you’re going to be trapped here for a bit, then take the chance to learn new skills. You never know, we might even convert you to liking sand.’
Cassandra laughed. ‘You’re very kind, Abi, but that may be one miracle too far.’
Chapter Thirteen
Leaving Cassandra on her own, Abi picked up her mobile and went outside. She took a few gulps of the sea air she loved so much. Just the thought of making contact with Simon was making her feel nauseous.
Why did you offer to do this?
Abi stared across the part of the cove that was just visible at the far edge of the horizon. Was she doing this simply because she wanted Cassandra to love this place as much as she did?
Not for the first time, Abi wished that her craving to make everything OK for everyone wasn’t so strong. Max would never understand her risking getting back in touch with Simon; especially for a virtual stranger. The last time they’d seen each other, Max had punched Simon on the jaw, and as Max was the most laid-back man on the planet, it had taken one hell of a lot of provocation for that to happen. Which just went to show what a horrible man Simon was capable of being.
There has to be another way… Abi stared at her phone for a minute, then, taking another deep breath, placed a call she hadn’t thought she’d ever make again. Not to Simon, but to Luke’s old office. It was already after six o’clock in the evening, but unless things had changed in the last year, Abi was sure the office would still be occupied – and hopefully by Luke’s former PA, Sasha, who had always worked until seven, such was her dread of missing something.
‘Good evening, Mr Williams’ office, how may I help you?’
‘Hello, is that Sasha?’
The answering voice was hesitant on hearing the use of her first name. ‘Yes, can I help?’
‘Umm, Sasha, it’s Abi. Abi Carter, I’m not sure if you remember me?’
‘Abi! Of course I remember you. Where are you? There’s a rumour going round that you’ve gone native. Slimy Simon was trying to convince everyone you’d been committed through grief at one point, but no one bought that.’
‘He did what!’ Abi felt anger bubble up, and then brushed it away. He wasn’t worth it. ‘Yes, that sounds like Simon. I can assure you, I’m perfectly sane. I just didn’t want to marry him, that’s all.’ She relaxed a fraction. ‘I love that you call him Slimy Simon. Very suitable!’
‘Trust me, you aren’t the only trophy he’s chased over the years.’ Sasha spoke more quietly, presumably aware of the chances of being overheard. ‘I did wonder if it was hurt male pride. It was always obvious he coveted his brother’s wife.’
The PA’s voice was laced far more with curiosity than pleasure, but at least, Abi thought, Sasha hasn’t put the phone down on me. ‘Well, I can assure you that I’m not at all deranged, but I am after some information for a friend.’
‘Go on?’
‘Do you know a lawyer called Justin Smythe? He works for Family Values.’
Sasha didn’t even pause. ‘The company I’ve heard of. His name doesn’t mean anything though. Can I ask around the office, or is this confidential?’
‘Ask away.’ Abi crossed her fingers, hoping that Cassandra wouldn’t mind.
After a few minutes of hearing muted mumbles down the line, Sasha was back on the phone. ‘Do you mean the Justin Smythe who is married to Jacinta?’
‘Could be. Why?’
‘Well, Jacinta I have heard of, although she uses her maiden name. She’s better known as Jacinta Scott-Thomas.’
‘Like the actress, Kristin?’
‘Yes, although there’s no relationship there. Gossip maintains that she likes people to assume there is, though.’
Abi groaned: perfect City wife syndrome, with all its one-upmanship, petty rivalries and gossip, was obviously still alive and well in her absence. ‘I’m basically trying to find out if Justin is in the country. A friend has business connections with him, and can’t track him down.’
‘A friend?’
Abi laughed. ‘Ten out of ten for trying, Sasha, but I’m not one of those chattering executive types!’
Sasha laughed down the line. ‘Which is one of the reasons we all had time for you, Abi. I’m so sorry about Luke, by the way. I don’t think I ever had time to say. You disappeared so fast.’
‘Thank you.’ Not wanting to discuss Luke with someone who had probably worshipped the ground he walked on, and would never believe the truth about his acts of manipulation, Abi said, ‘So, is Justin in the country?’
‘I don’t know, but I’ll make a few enquiries for you.’
‘Discreetly, and preferably without Simon ever knowing I’ve been in touch?’
‘No problem.’
Cassandra couldn’t sit still. Abi had been outside for what felt like ages. It probably hadn’t been long at all, but it felt so foreign to let someone else sort out her problems.
Wincing as she mentally played back her conversation with Abi, Cassandra dug her red painted fingernails into her palms. Had she really been so openly callous about the place Abi loved? No, you were worse than that. You were patronising.
Cassandra ran a palm over the back of the purple velvet sofa, and watched as the colour changed slightly under the pressure of her hand. It was so much easier in the city. Everyone was independent. Here … here it was all so interconnected. The rules were different, and she wasn’t used to them.
Everyone knew everyone else, and people actually cared. It had been enough of a shock to discover that Justin could have been conning her; she wasn’t prepared to accept that was definitely the case yet. To find that she was in a position where she’d have to air her dirty linen in public if she wanted to sort it all out was a humiliation she hadn
’t expected, and swallowing her pride was proving a bitter pill to take.
She strolled to the illustrator’s desk. The second her eyes met the crazy, brightly coloured scene of toadstools and pixies, she found herself smiling. It was so joyous, so innocent. The eyes that would search out every hidden detail in that page of book when it was complete wouldn’t have made any of the decisions she’d made, and in that moment, she found herself wishing away half of her life choices.
Cassandra was still trapped in the world of fairy castles and unicorns when Abi pushed the door to the gallery open. Sasha had called her back less than a minute after they’d hung up their original conversation, and suddenly the remaining wine in the bottle on the table didn’t seem enough to help her through what she was going to have to tell Cassandra.
Sensing Abi wasn’t sure how to say what needed to be said, Cassandra let her off the hook. ‘Tell it to me straight. If we were in business suits in an office, in the days before you met your husband, then we wouldn’t worry about upsetting each other, we’d just say what had to be said.’
Well, you wouldn’t worry, Abi thought to herself, but I would…
‘I didn’t call my brother-in-law in the end. That is something I will leave for an absolute last resort. I called Luke’s old PA. She didn’t know Justin, but her assistant knows his wife, Jacinta.’
‘Really?’
‘Jacinta Scott-Thomas rules the company’s executive wives with an iron rod apparently.’
‘That’s her.’
Abi patted the sofa, to indicate Cassandra should stop pacing and sit next to her. ‘Right then, there’s no easy way to say this. There was a promotion looming for Justin.’
‘But?’
‘But never a divorce. Not that the gossips have picked up on anyway.’
Cassandra went pale as she whispered, ‘What?’
‘If he does intend to leave his wife, he either hasn’t told her yet, or he has, and Jacinta is having none of it. The word is, and I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, that Jacinta has always known Justin had a mistress. She has been working for some time to get her – you – sidelined.’