‘Maisie Samson. What’s Hugo put in your tea?’
‘It isn’t only me, Patrick. How can I persuade people who are living hand to mouth and struggling to hold out against Scorrier when it might actually be better if they sold? I can’t dictate their lives to them.’
The sea had grown rougher and the sky was dark grey over the Hell Cove end of Gull Island. She opened the throttle and gave all her concentration to navigating her course back to Gull. It wouldn’t do to run aground on a sandbank with dusk falling.
Chapter 19
A couple of days later Maisie and Jess walked over the hill to the northern side of the island. The pub was closed and Jess had wangled a couple of hours off from boxing up narcissi at the Flower Farm to meet Maisie for a coffee. The wind was blowing hard and Maisie was glad that Jess had made it safely across from St Saviour’s over the rough seas. Jess wanted to talk about Adam, and Maisie wanted to talk to her about Hugo – and Patrick – so they’d wrapped up against the wind and headed out of the pub with a flask of hot chocolate. They stopped on top of the hill by some of the ancient prehistoric ruins that could be found throughout the isles.
‘How was Hugo’s event?’ Jess asked, giving Maisie a hand down a rocky outcrop that led to the road again.
‘The scones were nice.’
Jess laughed. ‘But full of bull?’
‘Yes.’ Maisie decided not to tell Jess that Hugo had invited her to call to see him again. She still hadn’t decided absolutely whether to meet him after all. He probably wanted to get her on her own to persuade her to sell the Driftwood. Divide and conquer etc. – which actually had given her an idea of her own.
‘You know I’d been thinking about calling a meeting of everyone from Gull myself but I wonder if it would be better to visit people individually. No one likes to say what they’re really feeling in a public meeting so I might drop in on them casually over the next couple of weeks. I can find out why the waverers want to sell and see if we can all come up with a strategy together.’
‘That’s brave, but also a good idea. If anyone can do it, you can.’
‘You have too much confidence in me. But while the pub’s relatively quiet, I could give it a try. At least I’ll have done my best.’
Jess patted her back. ‘Good luck. If we can help in any way let us know.’
‘I will. Don’t tell Mum and Dad or anyone, though. I don’t want to worry them or alert Hugo. I want it all kept under wraps.’
‘What about Patrick? He’s on your side, isn’t he?’
‘Yes. I think so. Well, he doesn’t have any stake in the place, does he? I’m sure he wishes us well and he works for us, so he’s bound to agree with what we want, but this isn’t his livelihood or birthright, and he’s leaving in the spring, so he can’t afford to care, even if he wanted to. I don’t want to drag him in so I think we should leave my conversations between us for the time being.’
‘OK, but word’s bound to get round once you start chatting up the neighbours.’
‘That’s a risk I’ll have to take. It’s their decision to sell or stay, at the end of the day. I can only do my best.’
And I have a sneaking feeling it won’t be enough, thought Maisie. Hugo couldn’t force her to sell the Driftwood but if he owned and developed the rest of the island, its character would disappear and all the cottages would be occupied by time-share tourists or holiday guests. The look and feel – the very essence – of Gull would vanish forever. The Driftwood would be a shabby island of its own, holding out. Hugo had said there would be more money for it, and selling would ensure its survival. Maybe financially, but as for its soul – Maisie and her parents and future generations of Samsons would lose the building and land, meaning Hugo could kick them out at any time. Even if they held out, he could convert other buildings to posh cafés and taverns like on Petroc and destroy them that way.
Maisie genuinely believed there was no need for that if everyone worked together. Somehow. She really didn’t want to speak to Hugo again if she could help it. He could only want one thing: to persuade her in some way to cave in and get her parents to sell the Driftwood. In fact, she was surprised he hadn’t called her himself by now to try and arrange a meeting.
‘Where’s Patrick?’ Jess asked, giving Maisie the chance to move on to an altogether more appealing topic than Hugo.
‘He’s gone to see Rev Bev,’ Maisie said sarcastically.
‘What? I didn’t know he was religious.’
‘He’s not. He’s gone to tea at the vicarage.’
Instead of gasping in astonishment as Maisie had expected, Jess nodded. ‘Well, she is a very attractive woman … what is she? Forty-three? Forty-five?’
‘Forty-nine according to Archie. He fancies her.’
Jess laughed. ‘She has some fabulous boots. I asked her about the zebra-print ones – the Louboutins with the red soles – and she said she bought them in an online auction in aid of a refugee crisis centre.’
‘How very charitable,’ said Maisie, amazed at Jess’s reaction.
‘She does her own hair colour, you know,’ Jess said admiringly. ‘I thought she must have it done professionally but she trained as a hairdresser and beautician before she became a priest, so she knows what she’s doing.’
Maisie thought of the salt-and-pepper roots appearing in her own tangled mop and how she needed to make an appointment. ‘According to Patrick, she likes to get to know newcomers to the isles, and was wondering if he was missing his family as the festive season grows near,’ she said.
Jess let out a low whistle. ‘Well, that’s a new chat-up line.’
‘So you think she is after him?’ Maisie asked, barely able to keep the dismay out of her voice.
‘I’ve only met her a few times since she got here in the spring. I wish I could say she was a snob or holier-than-thou but she seems like a nice person with a good sense of humour …’ Jess pulled her own dark hair out of her eyes. They gleamed with mischief. ‘Maisie, why do you care so much if Patrick and Bev are sharing a pot of Earl Grey and a clotted cream scone, or anything else?’
Maisie shrugged and stuffed her hands in her pockets. ‘I don’t. Oh bugger it. I do care.’
Jess shook her head. ‘You don’t seriously think that Patrick is interested in the vicar, do you?’
‘He might be. Don’t be ageist,’ said Maisie.
‘I’m not. Bev’s a hoot and an asset to the community and even Will said she was way too sexy to be a vicar.’
Maisie groaned out loud.
‘But the reason that Patrick isn’t interested in Rev Bev or any other woman is because he is so obviously interested in you, you silly mare!’
‘Really? Is he really?’
‘You know damn well he is but you keep pushing him away and giving him the cold shoulder. My God, if I thought he was up for grabs, I’d be down that vicarage myself and fighting off Bev with a stick or a crook or whatever she might have.’
‘I thought he was at one point – oh Jesus. I came back from the hospital after Dad had been taken in and I was tired and flaky and I misread the signals from him …’
‘Go on.’
‘I can hardly bear to say it out loud but I – I jumped on him. I thought he wanted to kiss me, and more, and he didn’t. He told me, very politely, that now wasn’t the right time so ever since then, I’ve kept well away from him.’
Jess didn’t seem shocked. ‘He was right. That probably wasn’t the right time. He’d known you – what? – three days and you were in a right old state. I’d have hated him if he had taken advantage. But I’d say, from my observation of him now, that he’s changed his mind and would definitely respond if you’d only lower that spike-topped drawbridge and let him within five feet of you.’
‘I don’t dare try it again. It was excruciating to be pushed away the first time even though I deserved it. I’m not as tough as I look.’
‘Not tough, but you are strong, hun. You must be to have survived the past ye
ar, but don’t confuse being strong with being hard and pushing everyone away. I’d love a fling with Patrick myself but he’s not interested. He made that clear at the Hallowe’en party … mind you, with Adam giving him the evils all night, I can hardly blame Patrick for being put off.’
Maisie had to concentrate as they scrambled down the bank that led from the old hill fort to the sea. At the bottom, they regained the main track and she and Jess stopped for a breather. ‘Adam is a pain in the arse,’ she said. ‘Acting like the jealous lover and then ignoring you. I’d like to bang his head against a wall until he sees how great you two could be together.’
‘That’s never going to happen. Because Adam’s leaving Scilly.’
‘What?’ Maisie said, shocked. ‘Oh, Jess, I’m sorry, I’ve been so wrapped up in worrying about Dad, and saving the Driftwood and bloody Patrick that I’ve ignored you. Leaving Scilly? Why? How long for?’
‘For good, as far as I know. He’s being transferred to the mainland at his request. I don’t know where to. Someone said he might even be going abroad, someone mentioned New Zealand …’
‘I’m so sorry, Jess. I haven’t wanted to poke my nose into your business before, but I know you’ve been putting on a brave face since things went wrong, and I have to ask you: until August, you and Adam seemed so happy. I don’t know what happened but I can’t stand seeing you so down now.’
‘I haven’t done a very good job of hiding my feelings, then?’
‘You seemed OK after you told me it was over. I assumed that you’d made the decision to end it and that’s why Adam’s been acting cool. But is that true?’
Jess heaved a sigh. ‘Yes and no, but mostly no. Everything was great until the bank holiday Adam went back to see his family in Cumbria. Something changed while he was out there but I don’t know what. He refused to talk about it and not long after, he said we should take a break. That break is now permanent. He didn’t even tell me he was leaving. Will did.’
‘Shit. That’s terrible. You must be so hurt.’
Jess shrugged. ‘I’m too busy to be hurt. Adam doesn’t seem to have told anyone why he wanted to split, not even Will. There’s gossip about us but I won’t give people the satisfaction of letting them see I’m upset. I won’t let Adam see, either. If he wants to go all mean and moody on me, then he can do. I’m better off without him.’
Maisie hugged Jess again, seeing her friend fighting back tears. She was almost in tears herself. Jess was so warm and loving, she didn’t deserve to be dumped without an explanation.
‘Thanks for being so lovely, and I do appreciate someone to talk to. It’s good to finally tell you how I really feel but let’s change the subject for now.’ Jess smiled. ‘And even if Adam is off the scene, and I’m free and single again, I won’t be challenging Bev to armed combat over Patrick because he’s already taken. He’s mad about you and you are about him so why the hell don’t you both just accept that fact and get together. Your friends are all sick of you mooning around.’
‘My friends?’
‘Me. Will.’
‘Is it that obvious? Mum and Dad wouldn’t like it. Mum still doesn’t completely trust Patrick.’
‘Who wholly trusts any man? But you’re not looking for wedding bells and eternal love, are you? If a winter of fun’s on the table, are you up for that? Sounds like the best of both worlds to me.’
Maisie sighed. ‘I don’t know. I mean, yes, I can’t deny that sex would be great.’ She sighed. ‘Really amazing …’
‘Then you know what to do. Grab your chance the next moment he shows any sign of being interested and make it clear what the terms of engagement are. I doubt he’ll put up any more resistance.’
‘Do you know something I don’t?’
‘No, but Will tried to sound him out and without actually admitting he fancied the pants off you, Patrick kind of gave off enough signals to let Will know he’d be up for it.’
‘And your brother’s an expert on other people’s love lives, is he?’
‘He’s crap, actually, but I’m only passing on the message.’
‘Great. I’ll bear it in mind.’
They walked past the Fudge Pantry and the Gull Island Post Office, its roof spattered with orange lichen. Jess lingered by the post box as if she was thinking of Adam again before a strong gust almost knocked them over.
‘I think we’ve had enough fresh air for one day,’ said Maisie, sighting the roof of the Driftwood. She led the way down a narrow track through the gorse, her mind humming with plans.
She decided she would personally visit each business and resident who was rumoured to be considering selling up, rather than tackle everyone at a possibly hostile meeting. Then she would call a meeting to have an open discussion, without Hugo’s knowledge, if possible. She’d start with Una and Phyllis and as she was on that side of the island, she might even call in on the vicar to get her on side – and see if there really was anything between her and Patrick.
Chapter 20
15 November
The next day, Maisie pulled the zip of her fleece higher as she turned on to the gravelled track that led down to the Hell Cove Guest House and Cottages. A whitewashed cottage sat just back from the cove itself, sheltered from the full brunt of the weather fronts straight from the Atlantic.
On the western side of the cove, the rocks of Hell’s Teeth glistened like a sea monster’s fangs as they were uncovered by the receding tide. Many ships had foundered on those on a foggy night, or been driven onto them in a gale. You could still see the bones of wrecks on a very low tide and, occasionally, gold and silver coins were washed ashore. However, Maisie’s favourite treasure lay hidden within the smoother, more benign rocks behind the ‘teeth’. The Mermaid’s Pool was tidal and Maisie had brought her rucksack with a towel for a dip. She’d planned the swim as a treat – or therapy – after her conversation with Phyllis and Una. If she was very lucky, perhaps her bathe would turn out to be a victory swim.
On reaching the bottom of the slope, Maisie decided to take the beach route to the cottages rather than keep to the track, and clambered down through the sea holly and gorse onto the creamy sand of Hell Cove.
Welcome to Hell – your little piece of Heaven on Earth
Maisie smiled at the fading sign, written in curling script by Archie Pendower. Hell Cove House definitely needed an upgrade, but she’d hate to see its quirky charm absorbed into a corporate brand. The gate was hanging low on its hinges so she had to give it a shove and wriggle through the gap to reach the path that led to the front door. The shutters were faded from pale green to grey and flakes of paint fluttered in the wind. Grey and gold lichen crawled over the window sills and broken slates of the holiday cottages.
They were all shuttered up and silent. There were no guests at this time of year, though there was no real reason why they should be empty. Maisie had had ‘storm-watching’ customers from Petroc in the pub at the weekend who’d told her that Petroc’s trendy time-shares were fairly buzzing with out-of-season breaks.
Phyllis Barton hurried round the side of the house, a broad smile on her face, wiping her hands on an oily rag. She wore gardening gloves and a boilersuit that had once been bottle green but was now spattered with a variety of paint colours, oil and indefinable stains.
‘Maisie. How lovely to see you.’ She held up her greasy hands. ‘Sorry. I’ve been servicing the mowing machine. Bloody grass will keep on growing, and I need to trim back the laurel if I can get the hedge cutters to work again. The garden’s run rampant over the summer.’
Una Barton joined them, carrying a hoe. She was the taller of the two sisters, her greying hair falling in wild crinkly curls over her bony shoulders. Phyllis preferred to home dye and cut her mop in an ever-changing array of colours and styles. It was best described as an aubergine bob today. Both women were lean and wiry, even though they must be the same age as Maisie’s parents.
‘How’s your dad?’ Una cut in, frowning hard at her sister.
‘On the mend, thanks,’ said Maisie, secretly admiring Phyllis’s stamina.
Phyllis clucked her tongue in sympathy. ‘We heard he was back but we’ve been too busy trying to keep this place from falling down or we’d have called in to see him ourselves. Pernicious anaemia, isn’t it? An uncle of ours had it. Uncle Gerald … you remember, don’t you, Una?’
‘Oh?’ said Maisie, bracing herself for a barrage of advice.
Una nodded. ‘Yes. I do. Poor old Gerald. Of course, he’s long gone.’
‘Right …’ said Maisie.
‘Not of the anaemia. He had a heart attack while he was playing bowls,’ said Phyllis.
‘I see.’ Maisie was torn between amusement and frustration.
Phyllis pulled off her crusty gardening gloves. ‘Anyway, what brings you to Hell, dear?’ she said.
‘Come to swim in the Mermaid Pool, have you?’ said Una.
‘Yes. I have. Thought I’d have a dip while the weather’s still fine,’ said Maisie.
Una wrinkled her button nose. She reminded Maisie of Aunt Sally from the Worzel Gummidge books. ‘Bit chilly for me these days or I’d join you.’
‘Wimp.’ Phyllis snorted in disgust. ‘I went in last week. Not for long though. It was a tad bracing so I shan’t bother again until spring. Are you going straight there, dear, or did you decide to call in for a coffee?’
‘I saw you in the garden from the hill and thought I’d say hello,’ said Maisie, quite truthfully. ‘How are you both doing? How’s business?’
Una pulled off her gloves and pushed her silver curls out of her eyes. ‘Mustn’t grumble.’
‘There’s such a lot to do, even when we don’t have guests,’ said Phyllis. ‘Not that some guests wouldn’t be welcome, but who’s going to come all this way when there’s no boat and you can never be sure if the planes will fly? Not to mention that fog we had last week cutting us off for days. It’s hard to attract people, but once they do come, they’re gobsmacked.’
Christmas on the Little Cornish Isles Page 15