by Jill Mansell
When he’d first arrived in St Carys, Belle had developed quite the crush on Ronan; she’d been very keen to get to know him better. Her interest in him might not have been returned, but it had certainly provided Clemency with endless hours of entertainment.
‘Hmm. Well if she’s got herself a boyfriend, I should be safe.’ Ronan indicated the notes she’d scribbled on a paper napkin. ‘What’s he after?’
She told him, and between them they began drawing up a list of potential properties that might fit the bill for Belle’s rich new boyfriend. Clemency ate her pavlova ice cream and, when it was all gone, dunked the pointy end of the waffle cone into her cappuccino because she knew it drove Ronan mad when she did that.
He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You’re revolting.’
Clemency beamed as she bit the soggy end off the cone. ‘I know.’
The holidaying family of four left the café with their finished portrait, and Marina packed up her easel and art equipment for the day. She paused at Clemency and Ronan’s table and tut-tutted good-naturedly. ‘Are you two still working? Mind you don’t burn yourselves out.’
‘Says the woman who never stops,’ Clemency reminded her. ‘How many have you sold today?’
‘Nine. It’s been good.’ Marina shifted the large, unwieldy bag on her shoulder. ‘It doesn’t feel like work when you’re having fun, though, does it?’
Ronan indicated the family now heading away from them as they made their way along the beach. ‘They seemed really happy with their painting.’
‘I know. It’s still a thrill.’ Marina smiled at him. ‘They were lovely people too.’
‘And what are you doing tonight?’ said Clemency. ‘Anything nice?’
‘Oh, extremely nice. Poor Alf’s still getting over his chest infection, so I’m going to be taking Boo out for a walk. And after that I’m babysitting Ben and Amy.’ Marina spread her hands. ‘So basically, couldn’t be better!’
‘You’re like Superwoman,’ said Ronan. And Clemency smiled because it was true, she was. Alf was Marina’s eighty-six-year-old neighbour. Ben and Amy were the hyperactive three-year-old twins who lived with their exhausted parents across the road from Marina’s whitewashed cottage on Harris Street. Here at the café, whenever Paddy and Dee needed an extra pair of hands to help out, Marina was always the first to volunteer. Basically, if anyone was ever in need of a lift, a favour or a bit of assistance with an overgrown garden, she was more than happy to oblige. In the five years since she’d moved to St Carys, she’d forged a place for herself in the heart of the community, and her love for the little town and its inhabitants had been returned in full.
‘Ah well, how else would I keep myself occupied?’ Marina deftly retied the turquoise ribbon that held her auburn hennaed curls away from her face. ‘Sit and twiddle my thumbs? Anyway, I only do what I want to do. If someone needs a hand with something, it’s nice to be able to help out.’
‘There’s such a thing as too nice, though.’ Ronan shook his head at her. ‘Don’t go letting people take advantage.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not a complete pushover.’ Her amber eyes sparkled. ‘I’m a better judge of character now than I used to be, thank God!’
She waved goodbye and left the café. Moments later, they watched as she greeted one of the local hoteliers before crouching down to ruffle the ears of his boisterous, waggy-tailed beagle.
‘She’s probably offering to knit the dog a coat,’ Ronan observed.
‘Seriously, though, why do bad things happen to good people? Whatever happened to karma?’
‘Maybe she’s not good. Maybe she’s actually a secret agent, a sinister assassin masquerading as a lovable artist.’
Clemency shook her head. ‘God, her husband must have been such a bastard to do what he did.’
The next morning, Clemency waited in her car outside the first of the three viewings she’d arranged for Belle and her new boyfriend.
Hopefully he wouldn’t be as pernickety as Belle, who had already texted to announce that she’d checked out one of the other shortlisted properties on Google Earth and there was no way they’d want to see it, because who in their right mind would want to live opposite a betting shop?
When in fact a lot of people would find it quite handy.
Oh well, maybe this chap of hers was addicted to gambling and she was just being protective.
Clemency checked her watch; it was now ten past eleven. When she’d called Belle earlier to explain that eleven was the earliest they could begin because she had a viewing with another client at ten, Belle had sighed and said, ‘Can’t you cancel them?’
Now, presumably, she was being punished for not having done so. Reaching across and flipping open the glove compartment, Clemency took out her secret stash of lemon sherbets and popped one into her mouth. That usually had the sod’s-law effect of making people turn up.
And yes, yet again it worked like a charm. Less than twenty seconds later, a black Lexus drew up in front of her and there was Belle, waving at her from her position in the passenger seat.
Clemency smiled despite herself, raised a hand in recognition and bit into the lemon sherbet; from experience she knew it was possible to crunch the outer shell to smithereens and swallow it in under twenty seconds. And since she could do that whilst greeting Belle, no need to wait in the car.
The Lexus was now efficiently parked. Both doors opened. Belle, the first to emerge, was wearing a long, floaty spaghetti-strapped white dress that could well be her way of subliminally suggesting to the new boyfriend that she’d make a stunning bride. Slim brown arms outstretched, she advanced on Clemency. ‘It’s my little sister!’ she cried. ‘Come here, you!’
Which didn’t always happen; you never knew for sure how you might be greeted by Belle. It tended to depend on who was watching.
Closing her own driver’s door, Clemency moved forward for a Hollywood-style hug, crunching the lemon sherbet into glassy splinters en route. Belle clutched her by the elbows and exclaimed, ‘Wow, you look so well,’ which was her way of saying fat.
Luckily Clemency knew she wasn’t fat; she was normal. Whereas Belle had been known to point at photos of supermodels and remark that they were looking a bit chubby.
They embraced, and Clemency breathed in the expensive scent her stepsister always wore. As she did so, she glanced over Belle’s shoulder at the new boyfriend, just as he removed his sunglasses.
Fizzy sherbet and pieces of hard lemon shell collided with a sharp intake of breath and Clemency did one of those convulsive coughs you just couldn’t hold down. Before she had a chance to turn her head away, shards of lemon and droplets of sherbety saliva sprayed over Belle’s chest.
‘Aaarrgh, you are SO GROSS.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it …’
‘Have you ever heard of covering your mouth?’ squealed Belle.
‘You were holding my elbows!’ Clemency spluttered, desperately scrabbling in her bag for a tissue and quite unable to look at Belle’s boyfriend, who was Sam. Oh God, it was him, it was actually him. Starting to cough again in earnest, she backed away and clapped her hands over her mouth, her streaming eyes, her whole face …
‘Look at my dress,’ Belle wailed. ‘You’re like some kind of animal!’
But Clemency could hardly hear her; it was as if her stepsister were burbling away from inside a box, whilst on top of the box stood a town crier with a giant megaphone bellowing, ‘It’s Sam, IT’S SAM, IT’S SAM.’
‘I’m sorry, it was an accident.’ Having located a tissue, Clemency wiped her eyes. ‘I’m sure we can give it a wash and it’ll be fine.’
The last time she’d seen Sam, she’d managed to spill red wine over herself. Coughing and spraying sherbet over someone else was, on balance, probably worse.
Even if the someone else was Belle.
Finally she risked a glance at him and saw that he was looking equally taken aback by the situation.
‘It h
ad better be.’ Belle was still looking utterly repulsed. ‘I only bought this dress last week. Oh well, I suppose I should be used to it by now.’ As if getting food sprayed at her by her stepsister was something that happened on a tediously regular basis.
‘Anyway. Sorry again,’ said Clemency.
‘Oh, fine.’ Belle shook her head with resignation. ‘Well, we’re here. Sam, this is Clem. Clem, Sam Adams.’
Sam was looking directly at her. Clemency looked back at him. This was the moment during which one of them needed to smile and say, ‘Actually, we’ve met before.’ Then they could explain that they’d sat next to each other during a flight, marvel at the coincidence and effortlessly move on with the viewing.
That was all that needed to happen.
The moment paused, hovered in the air between them for a second, then moved on. It was now too late to say it. Sam held out his hand. ‘Hello.’
Clemency shook it and heard herself say, ‘Hi.’
Like two complete strangers meeting each other for the first time.
‘So.’ Sam nodded slightly. ‘Shall we have a look at this apartment, then?’
‘Absolutely.’ Taking her cue from him, she jangled the keys in her hand. ‘Let’s do it. Let’s see if we can find you the perfect place.’
Not to be left out, Belle said, ‘Plus, let’s see if I can wash this gross stuff off the front of my dress.’
The second-floor apartment was decorated in seaside shades of pale green and blue. It was clean and modern, with a huge kitchen and two good-sized bedrooms. When Belle disappeared into the silver and white bathroom to clean the sticky sherbet stains off her dress, she left the door wide open so there was no opportunity for an in-depth private conversation.
But while the taps were running, Clemency murmured, ‘So you’re not married any more.’
Sam didn’t even look at her; he was standing gazing out of the window. Keeping his own voice quiet, he said, ‘Clearly not.’
‘When she told you she had a stepsister called Clemency, did you wonder if it might be me?’
He shook his head. ‘She didn’t mention your name. I didn’t know.’
The taps stopped running and within seconds Belle rejoined them, patting the wet patch on her dress with a white hand towel. ‘It’s come out.’
‘Good,’ said Sam. ‘Panic over.’
She gestured around them. ‘What’s the verdict on this place, then?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s great. But I wouldn’t say it was … you know …’
‘Love at first sight?’ said Belle. Which gave Clemency a bit of a jolt.
Sam didn’t miss a beat. ‘Something like that.’ He tipped his head in agreement. ‘And we’re in Penzance. Which is stunning, clearly, but that bit further from the airport. OK, we’re crossing this one off the list. Where next?’
‘The cottage in Perranporth,’ said Clemency. ‘Um, you’ve got a ladybird on your shirt …’ The temptation to reach over and brush it away was almost overwhelming.
Before she could do it, thankfully, Belle flicked the insect off and briefly rested the flat of her hand against Sam’s chest, smiling up at him. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
The cottage in Perranporth, forty minutes away from Penzance, was picturesque and situated on a steep hill.
‘Now this is different,’ said Sam. ‘I do like it. But I’m seeing a problem.’
‘I know. Parking,’ said Clemency. ‘I did warn you.’
‘I meant this.’ He pointed as a gaggle of tourists paused on the street outside, took several photos of the cottage, then came up to the living-room window and peered right in. The mother of the group, wearing a too-tight purple T-shirt with a picture of Barry Manilow on the front, shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare and squashed her nose up against the glass. Spotting Clemency, she gleefully announced, ‘Ooh, look at that, there are people inside, I can see them! Coo-eee!’
‘She’s waving at us.’ Belle shrank back in horror.
‘You could always put up net curtains.’ Clemency was struggling to keep a straight face. ‘If you were a net-curtainy type of person.’
Drily, Sam replied, ‘Which I’m probably not.’
And Clemency felt her stomach do a sudden swooping dive, because he was giving her the look she remembered so vividly from three years ago, the look she’d – much to her own embarrassment – never been able to forget.
Because sometimes it didn’t matter how many times you jabbed the delete button, the thing you were trying to remove from your brain simply refused to disappear.
Chapter 5
By two o’clock, they’d arrived in St Carys, where the third of the shortlisted properties was situated.
‘Here we are, then.’ Jumping out of the hire car and shielding her eyes from the sun as she peered up at the third-floor apartment, Belle said, ‘It’s like “Goldilocks and the Three Bears”, isn’t it? The first place was too boring, the second place was too interesting. Let’s hope this one is going to be just right.’
Obviously Belle wanted it to be the one Sam chose. Then he’d be right here in her own home town. Clemency, who wasn’t so sure how she felt about it, was torn. It went against the grain to not want to sell a property, but just seeing Sam again today had been unsettling. Did she really want him to buy a place in St Carys? Yet the apartment was stunning. Once he clapped eyes on it, was there the remotest chance he’d say no?
Five minutes later, she discovered the answer to that question. The views were fantastic. Everything about the place was about as perfect as any potential owner could want. The wraparound balcony was big enough to throw a party on …
Which was apparently what was happening right now, in the penthouse apartment directly above their heads.
In fact it was sounding like quite an intimate party. Oh God.
‘Listen to them,’ Belle exclaimed, slow on the uptake. ‘What is going on up there?
Sam, who wasn’t slow on the uptake, said wryly, ‘I think it might be some kind of exercise class.’
As an estate agent, it wasn’t the first time Clemency had overheard something she’d have preferred not to overhear during the course of a viewing, but this was without a doubt the loudest.
And appeared to involve the largest number of … well, participants.
OK, this was officially awkward.
‘Oh!’ The penny finally dropped and Belle clapped her hands over her mouth. ‘Oh my God.’
Overhead, the gasps and shrieks appeared to be escalating. Belle said, ‘I don’t believe it! Clem, make it stop.’
‘Seriously?’ Clemency looked at her. ‘How do I go about doing that?’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake!’ Marching out on to the balcony, Belle bellowed, ‘Hey you! Up there! We can all hear you, you know … You have to stop making that noise this minute!’
They heard laughter amid the other sounds, followed by the pop of a champagne cork, which sailed over the edge of the balcony. A male voice called out, ‘We like it best when we know people are listening.’
‘Well you’re disgusting,’ Belle yelled back, ‘and you should all be ashamed of yourselves.’
‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,’ a female voice shouted down to them. ‘Come up and join us if you want. Don’t be shy! The more the merrier!’
As they were leaving, they encountered the occupier of the flat below the one they’d just viewed. Clemency stopped the middle-aged woman. ‘Hi, excuse me … do you happen to know if the people in the penthouse apartment are the owners? Or is it let out to holidaymakers?’
Because if they were only going to be staying for a week or two, it wouldn’t be a problem after all.
‘You mean the Carters?’ The middle-aged woman rolled her eyes. ‘You’re from the estate agents, aren’t you? And this is the first time you’ve heard them having an orgy? Well all I can say is, lucky you. They bought the place in January and they’ve been inviting their so-called friends around most afternoons ever since.’
‘Oh.’ Clemency’s heart sank.
‘The Jeffersons didn’t happen to mention that to you, I’m guessing? Thought they wouldn’t. Why else do you suppose they’re so desperate to move out? God only knows how you’re ever going to sell that place. Those new people are a living nightmare.’
Oh dear. The Jeffersons should have told them. Not only had Clemency failed to find Sam a suitable property to buy, they were going to have to drop the price of this one.
‘Maybe you could offer any buyers a lifetime’s supply of industrial earplugs,’ said Sam.
When a problem occurs and people are desperate, they’ll call their estate agent at any time of the day or night. At nine o’clock that evening, Clemency emerged from the shower to hear her phone ringing. The initial thought flashing through her brain was that Sam had got hold of her number and was desperate to speak to her about the situation between the two of them.
No, don’t even think it. God, though, it was just so weird that at this very moment he was right here in St Carys, less than half a mile away, staying the night with Belle at Polrennick House.
Were they sharing a bed?
OK, really stop thinking about it. Dripping water from the shower all over the carpet, Clemency picked up her phone and said, ‘Hi, Cissy, everything OK?’ because of course it wasn’t Sam calling her.
‘No,’ wailed Cissy Lambert, who was never knowingly underdramatic. ‘Everything is not OK!’
Maybe she’d just discovered her baby grand piano was going to have to be lifted by crane out of the front window, or the floor tiles in her new house didn’t exactly match her favourite shoes.
‘Tell me what’s wrong.’ Clemency adopted the kind of reassuring tone people like Cissy Lambert quite often needed to calm them down when they were on the verge of exchanging contracts and their last-minute nerves were in shreds.
‘Oh God, I can’t bear it. The sale’s fallen through,’ Cissy screeched painfully into her ear. ‘Those fucking fuckers have only gone and fucking pulled out.’
‘What?’ Belle’s voice was crackly over the phone. ‘I can’t hear you.’